The Mochi Quandary: When Life Gives You Tomatoes
by MomotsukiNezumi
Summary: The Italies are as different, at least to others, as night and day. But one hot summers day, they both unknowingly make the same wish, at the same time: Find a friend that treats them equally, not as cowards or jerks, but themselves. Luckily, they have a Tomato Fairy Godmother...er, Godfather to help out! The bad news...they never thought their new friends would be snack food!
1. Author's Note: The Votes are in

**Alright, you lot voted for more of this mochi madness, and I'm more than happy to, as the good Captain Jack Sparrow would say, "acquiesce to your request". **

**However, I got so many varied votes and PMs that I decided to mess with the Mochiverse a bit by throwing in two different stories into one fanfic. **

**So, the decision has been made, by the vote of the good people of , that I will write a story about MochiSpain and the Mochi-Italies (yes, that is correct, Spain and BOTH Italies get mochis!). However, as i feel that Romano, bless his eternally swearing, grumpy self, needs some more love, I will not only gift him with MochiSpain, but I'll give Spain a MochiRomano (because I like to be evil and add more DRAMA!) so that those two lovable fools can receive double the love (and I may, or may not, make a mochi-pairing out of those two)!**

**As for adding MochiFeliciano (yes, North Italy as a mochi will be made...and you will die of its cuteness), I will be giving MochiFeli to a certain uptight, rule-abiding cough*stick-in-the-mud*cough Germany, so that he may recieve mochi therapy on how NOT to be so boring. I've heard from England that Mochi-cuddling is very, VERY therapeutic, especially if you get to be cuddled by your crush while doing so. (America, stop grinning at me like an idiot, I _know_ England makes a good substitute for Mr. Pillow already!)**

**MochiGermany will appear as an omake at certain parts of the main story as a little side-story about how Feli will deal with the world's only square mochi as his alarm clock for when Germany has to haul Prussia's rule-breaking bum out of jail... again. **

**I hope you lot like this, since I'm going to write this fic during Easter Break as the Easter Egg that I didn't get. I may also post next week the oneshot I've been writing about MochiBelarus and Lithuania.  
**

**The chapter after this one will be the one that officially starts to fic off as a prologue of sorts.**

**So, good-bye, good luck reading this drivel, and remember your survival tip of the day: DON'T BLINK. BLINK AND YOU'RE DEAD.**


	2. Chapter 1: A Picnic Gone Weird

It began on a hot day, at the height of summer, in a tomato garden in Sicily.

The human personifications of both halves of Italy were sitting cross-legged on a checkered picnic blanket on the ground, a wicker basket of fresh bread, several soft cheeses, a plastic wrap-covered bowl of green grapes, and an iced bottle of sparkling mineral water set between them. Feliciano, also known as North Italy, was munching on a crunchy rustic bread roll with melted parmesan cheese and thick-cut mild salami, idly humming "Draw a circle, it's the Earth..." repeatedly as he tapped his fingers against his left leg. Romano, known as South Italy to most (and "Lovi~" by one particularly clingy Spanish nation), was chugging down a plastic cup of the mineral water, muttering curses under his breath about the maddening heat. Even for Italy, the summer was unusually hot, and the already rather grumpy nation was feeling the effects of the savage warmth quite harshly.

The two Italians had spent the earlier part of their day with a few other nations, namely Japan and Germany (both of whom Feliciano had hugged profusely and begged to have lunch with), Spain (who'd ended up with a black eye after surprising Romano with a tackle-hug), and then by proxy, Spain's friends and fellow Bad Touch Trio associates, France and Prussia, after a recent World Meeting in their shared country. Feliciano had offered to take everyone out for lunch at one of the nearby air-conditioned restaurants, and given the painfully evident summer temperature, the offer was taken up immediately. The chosen lunch destination was a tiny little place a few streets away, called "La Piccolo Compagna", which Feliciano had cheerfully had explained to a slightly confused Japan meant "The Little Countryside". The restaurant was suitably crowded for an afternoon, the total inside space (including the open kitchen in the back) being about the size of the average classroom, with butter-yellow walls decorated with hand painted scenes of children playing hide-and-seek in a wheat field, and several windows with whitewashed windowsills and pink and yellow checkered curtains for framing. There were only a half dozen people working: a rather plump man as the cook, working diligently at making pasta dishes and cold vegetable plates, a friendly teenage girl in a blue dress who stood at the register who chattered away with tourists as she made change and rang up bills, a busboy with ruffled brown hair who balanced a stack of plates a foot high in his arms as he headed in and out of the kitchen, and several pretty college girls who took orders, brought cold drinks, and flirted with several suitably dumbstruck foreign exchange students who were seated by the door.

Amidst the rapid chatter of natives and tourists sitting at the tiny booths and crowded round tables, Feliciano somehow managed to get them the largest seating area, a round table with broken bits of smooth stained glass and pebbles decorating the top in a pretty mosaic fashion, the chairs mismatched and with well-worn cushions. France and Prussia had instantly taken to flirting with the nearest waitress, while Germany and Japan passed around cold glasses of water. Romano, who'd somehow ended up sandwiched between Spain and Prussia, ended up trying futilely to shove Spain away.

By the time that their food had arrived, Romano had been grumpier than usual. By the time the meal had been halfway over, he'd wished he'd never agreed to go out to lunch. Spain was too clingy for his liking, and Prussia had sprayed food all over the table upon eagerly digging into a fresh plate of pickled onions, black olives, and Bresaola, a meat dish originating from Valtellina, part of North Italy's Lombardy region. Romano, who unfortunately was sitting next to Prussia, was right in the proverbial line of fire, and ended up covered in olive bits and flecks of meat. After swearing half a dozen times at Prussia for being so messy, Romano had left the restaurant, causing his concerned northern twin to follow in order to make sure he was alright.

It took only a few streets worth of distance for Romano to realize he wasn't being called back. Despite claiming to himself that going back would be pointless and stupid, the fact that seemingly no one had left the restaurant to get him hurt a bit more than it should.

So when Feliciano finally arrived a moment or so later, a look of worry on his face, Romano told him that he didn't want to eat lunch anymore; Feliciano, despite seeing Romano's surly, standoffish demeanor, spotted the faint glimmer of hurt in his twin's golden-brown eyes, and told him instead that they could have a snack together somewhere else. "It doesn't have to be lunch, and it doesn't have to be with anyone else but us, ve!"

Romano had been silent for a moment, before nodding. The two nations had then gone to a nearby grocery store, gotten a few things to put in a basket, and gone back to Romano's house, where there was sure to be some privacy.

That had been several hours ago. It was late in the afternoon now, and Romano was wondering if he could convince the hot sun to go die in a ditch somewhere. It was too hot for napping without getting sunburned, too hot to clean the house or cook food, too hot to go sightseeing or hit on pretty girls, too hot for _anything_.

It was even too hot to pick tomatoes, and that was saying something, considering Romano had developed such a strong taste for the delicious, shiny red fruit over the years that the idea of being unwilling to get more seemed purely insane. _Stupid sun, making it too damn hot for me to get tomatoes. I'm gonna bake like a damn lasagna in this heat. _

Feliciano, who was less inclined to curse things over a million miles away, had fallen asleep on the picnic blanket after eating his food, and was napping curled up into a little ball, rather like a kitten, every so often letting out a soft _"Ve..."_ as he dreamed. Romano looked at his twin in annoyance; what the hell gave his stupid brother the right to sleep when he was so uncomfortable?

Well, he couldn't let anyone _else _be comfortable when he wasn't. Scowling, Romano dumped some of the mineral water on his brother's head, unsympathetic when Feliciano jumped up in surprise upon being soaked. "What was that for, ve?", he said. "It's so cold!" Golden-brown eyes, narrowed in annoyance and darkened to a deep gold in the blistering heat, stared unsympathetically at into chocolate-brown as Romano deadpanned, "It's too damn hot for you to be sleeping, idiota. Why were you even napping, anyway? It's like, a million damn degrees out."

Feliciano smiled cheerfully at his brother, unfazed by the oppressive heat, or Romano's annoyed expression. "When it gets warm out, I get sleepy, ve! So I decided to take a siesta. I thought you were going to join me, though..."

Romano's angry gaze softened slightly at his brother's words. "Well", he amended gruffly, "Don't do that again. It's too hot out here for siestas; you'll end up baking in this heat, and if I don't want to hear your whining about how you forgot sunscreen again." Feliciano merely smiled again, content that his brother wasn't really that mad at him, before speaking up.

"Well, I _do _wish we could do something about this heat, ve", he yawned softly. "I didn't even get any gelato today to help keep cool." Romano nodded; he could agree with his twin on that one, a frozen dessert sounded amazing right about now.

There was a sudden gust of wind, blowing the corners of the picnic blanket up and upending the bowl of grapes, scattering green fruit everywhere. Feliciano let out a sudden cry of delight. Romano turned to see what had made his brother so happy; by God, if it was that stupid potato bastard again...

But it wasn't Germany. It was a huge bowl of cherry and vanilla gelato, topped with a heaping pile of chopped nuts and whipped cream, sitting right in the middle of their picnic basket. A bowl of gelato that, until a second ago, hadn't been there.

"Don't eat it, Feli!", he shouted, yanking his brother away from the bowl of dessert. Chocolate brown eyes stared at him in confusion. "Why not, ve? It's cold and creamy and yummy and right here!" Romano smacked his Northern counterpart upside the head. "_Idiota_!", he hissed. "We don't even know where that thing even came from! What if it's poisonous?"

"It's not." The voice startled both Italians. They knew that voice, they loved that voice, but they hadn't seen it's owner in ages. What was _he _doing here?

Dark, curly hair waved slightly in an unseen breeze. A deep red cape, tattered and frayed at the edges from time and countless battles. A smile, shining bright enough to blind the eyes of anyone crazy enough to look directly at it. But something was very, very _off _about him.

When Romano finally regained his wits enough to speak, the sentence hung in the hot air, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

"_Nonno_ _Roma,_" he asked questioningly, "_Why _are you wearing a fairy princess tutu?"


	3. Chapter 2: Wait, you're a WHAT?

Rome grinned proudly, his posture suggesting that he was completely comfortable in his rather eccentric getup: a fluffy ballerina tutu in the same shade of red as his cape, the edges embroidered with cream and gold thread. There was a tiny gold tiara sitting atop his head, with a large, shiny ruby as the centerpiece. Red ballerina point shoes with golden laces clung to his manly calves, and on each of his arms was a puffy armband of red velvet with a silver button. A belt of bronze and silver medallions hung around his waist, with a tan leather pouch on one side and a leather sword sheath on the other side, containing what could only be, from Romano's point of view, the most girly, sparkly, damn _shiny_ wand on the whole planet. The wand was about a foot long and made of a hard, dark wood, shaped like the spiral of a unicorn's elegant horn, with subtle tones of shimmering deep gold and blood red paint along the inner ridges of each spiral, and tapered off into a sharp point capped with a fist-sized, glowing gold star. The wand body also seemed to have been polished with some sort of shiny gold glitter, so that whenever Rome moved, the whole wand shimmered in a golden haze like some kind of weird mirage. The star appeared, from the Italy twins could see, to be attached to the rest of the wand by being haphazardly tied on with a very long, tattered red ribbon that appeared to have once been fabric ripped from Rome's cape, only the ribbon seemed to have been splashed with huge streaks and splotches of glittery silver and bronze paint, and a liberal sprinkling of tiny silver stars that winked in the late afternoon sun.

Feliciano seemed bewildered by their grandfather's strange clothing choice, and gave Rome a questioning look. Romano, as vocal as ever, chose to speak his mind instead."You look like a goddamn creepy pedo that escaped from the nuthouse to find little kids, _Nonno_! Why the hell are you even wearing that thing?" Rome merely blinked at him, eyes showing amusement. "Oh come on, Romano, you and Feli have seen me in worse and you know it~".

Romano wondered vaguely if this was where his idiot brother had gotten his ability to not mind cross-dressing. The thought was rather horrifying. The thought that this was also where he'd gotten the same ability (even if he would never admit it) was even _more_ terrifying. _Why the hell are all the old countries so damn weird? _

His Northern counterpart, however, seemed less "weirded out" by their grandfather's sparkly costume, and promptly ran over, throwing his arms around Rome's muscular frame as he shouted happily, "_Nonno Roma_, you're here, you're here! We missed you so much, ve!". Rome smiled happily, returning Feliciano's embrace while reaching out a hand to grab a surprised Romano, yanking him close, in the midst of multiple curse words and sputters of "Put me down!", and wrapping them in a group hug. After a moment of half-hearted struggling, Romano gave in and leaned back against his brother and grandfather, admitting inwardly that the hug wasn't so bad.

However, the question had to be answered. "Seriously, _Nonno_, why are you wearing a fairy princess tutu? Did you lose a bet to Germania or something? Is there something you're not telling us?"

After a moment, Rome's carefree expression suddenly turned serious. Holding both his grandchildren at arms length, he motioned for them to sit down on the picnic blanket. Upon taking a seat, Rome handed Feliciano the gelato bowl and passed around several plastic spoons he pulled from the pouch on his belt. Romano dug in instantly, focusing on the cold treat to help ignore the fact that his grandfather was being so serious, something he and Feliciano had very rarely seen. The times that his _Nonno _had actually been discernibly serious had been rather worrisome, because nowadays, Rome rarely expressed himself that way unless something very big was about to happen. Romano could only hope that the "very big something" was not a bad thing.

"I'm your Fairy Godfather."

Feliciano dropped his spoon, globs of vanilla gelato and all, and Romano spat out his own mouthful of cherry gelato, spraying the checkered picnic blanket fabric with spit and gelato. "_What!?" _

Rome gave them no smile, no cheerful laugh, no hint of any kind that he had been joking. The Italy twins shared a look of confusion. Their _Nonno _was joking, right? Right?

"It's true, I really am!", Rome stated, pulling the wand from his sword sheath and holding it out to them, as if to prove his point. Feliciano poked the tip of the star with a cautious finger, as if to check if the bizarre accessory was real. The existence of said wand was proven a split second later, when the star's tip glowed like a hot iron and Feliciano received a strong shock to his finger, the pale digit still smoking as he snatched it away with an exclamation of "Ouchie! Ow ow ow, hot, hot!". Rome grinned wryly at his grandsons, uttering a slightly dry, "Well? Do you believe me now?".

Romano glared at Rome for a moment, before he grabbed his brother's hand, yanking the still smoking finger up to eye level and inspecting it; sure enough, the tip of Feliciano's finger was an angry red color. Muttering a curse, he promptly grabbed the still somewhat full gelato bowl and shoved Feliciano's finger into the cold vanilla and cherry treat; his twin let out a cry of surprise at the sudden movement, but instantly calmed down as the soothing feeling of the cold gelato reduced the stinging of his burned digit. "Dammit, _Nonno, _you _know _that Feli's an idiot! Why'd you let him touch that!?"

Rome merely smiled a bit. "You and I both know that Feli would've done that anyway. I let him touch the wand because it would prove to you boys what I just told you." Romano stared at him, utterly bewildered."What, that you're a nutcase?"

"No," Rome continued as if he hadn't heard the slight insult, "That I'm your Fairy Godfather. Your _Tomato_ Fairy Godfather, to be precise." When his grandchildren merely gave him a continued look of confusion, Rome decided to explain. "I'm here because you two made a wish, and as your appointed Tomato Fairy Godfather, I'm obligated to grant it. This wand here," he held said wand up for emphasis, "helps me fulfill my wish-granting."

Feliciano scratched his head in confusion as he turned the answer over in his head. "So, let me get this straight...you're here... because _fratello_ and I wished for a bowl of gelato?" Rome nodded. "That's so nice of you, _Nonno_, grazie!"

Romano wasn't as pleased. "What do you mean, appointed? Is there some lunatic out there that got you to do this?"

The old Empire shook his head. "No, Romano, she isn't a lunatic. The Tomato Goddess is actually a very nice, sane lady, and quite easy on the eyes, too." Romano stared at him; a _Tomato Goddess_? Really?...

_Although that actually sounds pretty good. A pretty Goddess who makes tomatoes, hmm, not a bad idea at all...maybe I can make a shrine for her. Hmm, and all the offerings will be tomatoes, which gives me an excuse to grow more tomatoes. Yes, that could work..._

His brother was concerned with other matters."You got appointed by a _goddess_ to be our Fairy Godfather? That's amazing! What does she look like? Does she like pasta? Can you bring her some as an offering from me, please, please?" Rome smiled at his Northern grandson's enthusiasm, and nodded. "Yes, Feli, I can bring her some of your delicious pasta."

Romano felt a little annoyed; why didn't _Nonno _ask him if he wanted to offer some tomatoes too? He had the best tomato garden in all of Sicily, and he wasn't even being included?

Rome turned to him and added, "Well, I'll bring her your pasta, Feli, but only if Roma gives her some of his tomatoes too. You can't have great pasta without tomatoes!"

"Well of _course _you can't!", Romano stated proudly, eyes flashing in offense at the very idea. But both Rome and Feliciano noticed the slight, almost unnoticeable smile that he gave in thanks for being included.

"Anyway, that's not the only reason why I'm here today," Rome continued. "I'm also here because you two have another wish that I need to grant."

Both Romano and Feliciano blinked in confusion. "What wish, ve? We only wished for some gelato!"

Rome stared at them. "You mean, you haven't even made the wish yet? That's impossible! It says on my checklist for today that you two made _two _wishes, not one! Darn it, where did I put that checklist..."

The old Empire proceeded to open up the pouch on his belt and pull quite a few things out of it in his search for said checklist, including a pouch of sparkling golden powder labeled "Pixie dust, high powered: Everything else you need is faith and trust! (Joint Product of Neverland and England)", a very long collapsible brass telescope, a giant rusty anchor (which both twins jumped out of the way of when Rome threw it carelessly over his shoulder), a huge red and gold book stuffed full of old papers and multicolored sticky notes with a title in gold that was written in a language neither of the two Italies could read, and what looked to be a green glass rectangular wine bottle with a music box inserted into the hollow space at the bottom and a tiny metal shot glass for the bottle cap. Romano wondered if the pouch was bottomless; it would certainly explain why so much junk was able to be stored in it.

Finally, after several minutes of searching, Rome let out a triumphant "Aha!" and pulled out a little black book, spiral bound with lined paper the color of old parchment, and began flipping through it, muttering dates under his breath as his eyes sped over each page's contents. After a long moment, he finally stopped at a page, grinning victoriously as he shoved the notebook forward so his grandsons could see what was written.

The page was blank.

Romano blinked once, twice, and then shouted, "What the heck is this? I don't see a damn thing written on this page!" Feliciano peered at the open page, chocolate-brown eyes full of confusion as he called out, "It's true, _Nonno_, the page is blank! I can't see any words on it, ve!"

The Roman Empire blinked, appearing to be confused, before comprehension dawned in his eyes and he muttered a sheepish, "Oops. I forgot to tell you, you can't read it. It's only able to be read by Fairy Godfathers."

Romano slapped his forehead in frustration. _Why_, by God, did he have to be related to idiots?

Rome, who appeared to be unfazed by Romano's actions, read aloud the contents of the page for his grandsons' benefit. "On this day of _Pasquetta, _known by all as Easter Monday, I, the Roman Empire, being the appointed Tomato Fairy Godparent of the personifications of North and South Italy, do solemnly swear that I am to fulfill the following wish obligations...". Silence ensued he trailed off, eyebrows furrowing in apparent confusion.

"Well?," Romano asked after a moment. "What's the page say?" Rome squinted at the page, trying to make out the words. A few seconds later, he grinned and turned to both Romano and Feliciano, and said, "It says for you to go home."

Romano blinked in surprise, before an angry look settled over his features as he shouted, "What do you _mean, _it says to go home? That's ridiculous!" Rome repeated, "I'm not lying. That's what it says: go home. It says that whatever you two wished for is at home."

The old empire suddenly smiled again. "However, that doesn't mean I can't help you get there. Now hold still..."

Both Italies gave their grandfather a confused expression, which turned to alarm as Rome walked forwards and tapped them both on the head with the star tip of his wand. Romano began swearing profusely as his body began to glow golden, before vanishing. Feliciano began panicking as he saw his body glowing like a flashlight, taking out his old white flag of surrender and waving it around as he shouted that he didn't want to disappear. Rome merely waved good-bye as his grandsons vanished, the echo of Romano's enraged swearwords lingering in the air.

The abandoned picnic basket a few feet away caught his eye. Rome walked back over to the blanket and helped himself to the food. After all, it wasn't good to waste a perfectly good picnic, right?

He hoped his grandsons liked their wishes, although Romano, he knew, would probably skin him for his gift. Oh well, he knew that he and Spain would thank him later. _Good luck, boys, you'll need it. _


	4. Chapter 3: A List, and a Wish

Romano appeared in a flash of golden, sparkling light in his kitchen, still swearing as he fell on the floor. "Goddammit, _Nonno_, I could have walked home, you didn't have to use your sparkly magic crap to dump me ten feet from where I was earlier!" Of course, there was no answer from his grandfather. Romano lived alone, after all.

Even if he wouldn't ever admit it, that fact hurt more than it should. It hurt a lot, actually.

When he was very little, he'd had his idiot brother to keep him company. When they'd been conquered and separated, with Feli going to that idiot Austria and his pretty wife Hungary (even now, he couldn't see for the life of him what she saw in such a stuck up, snobbish person), and Romano himself going to Spain, he'd at least had the soon aptly nicknamed "Tomato Bastard" to keep him company, someone who actually _liked _him, for reasons Romano himself still didn't understand. He knew he wasn't the nicest person by any means, even if he'd never say so aloud.

He'd had someone who liked him, though. Someone who fed him, clothed him (even if it had been in those stupid pink dresses, he still wondered if Spain had thought he was a girl upon first getting him as a spoil of war), given him a roof over his head, and who'd protected him from all the other crazy Empires of the world. Romano had lost count of the times that he'd gone to bed as a child, thanking God that he had Spain to keep him out of the clutches of that crazy nation called Turkey. Spain, he had to admit, had been "nice", something that he'd rarely seen from other nations at that time period.

But that time of companionship, forced or otherwise, had been years and years ago. Since he and Feliciano had become more or less stronger nations, and had reunified their country, they'd been able to live in their own homes by themselves. But his Northern brother always had been more of a social butterfly than him, always being so sickeningly cheerful and friendly that he'd won the affections of practically everyone he met. He always was friends with someone, and if his house wasn't stuffed full of those friends when they visited, he'd be off in some other country, staying with Japan or the Potato Bastard or someone else who sung his praises.

Not Romano, though. Never Romano. Never the grumpy Southern half of Italy that other nations couldn't stand, because he wasn't "cheerful' enough, or "smiled enough", or "could stand to be more like his brother". He'd never really been able to befriend most other nations because of his surly attitude, but he wished that he was at least liked a bit more. He _knew _everyone liked his stupid brother more than him, he could see it every single time that he saw their stupid faces and heard them start to say, "Oh hi, Feli-...oh, it's you. Sorry, I thought you were your brother." Every time that he was dragged off to Spain's house so that Spain could have some quality time with his "favorite little underling!", and that stupid Prussia (or as he liked to call him, Stupid Potato Bastard Number 2) showed up uninvited and took up all of Spain's attention, and he'd hear Prussia whisper to Spain why he didn't hang out with Feliciano instead, since stupid Feli was nicer. Stupid _fratello_, being all nice and crap and getting all the attention.

Romano didn't even _want _to be jealous of his brother, but he still was. Curse the world for screwing with his emotions.

He'd learned to deal with it over the years, but it still was there, hanging over his head like some sort of dark raincloud, pouring down rain made up of all the negative things that happened in his life. He knew bottling up so many dark feelings wasn't healthy, but what the hell could he do about it? It wasn't as if he had a friend to vent this crap to!

But...maybe, just maybe, even if he'd never, ever, in a million, billion years admit it, he did want a friend. Someone to talk to about this crap in his life, someone he could hang around as himself, and not be judged by that person for not being enough like his stupid brother. Someone who could like him for being _him._

And they'd have to love tomatoes. Romano knew that he'd never get along with this person otherwise.

Sitting down on his kitchen floor, he wondered what that person would be like, if he ever met him or her. He'd heard that people often befriended people like them, or people with characteristics that they really liked. _Maybe I should make a checklist, so I know what to look for_.

He got out a pencil and his grocery store notebook, the spiral kind, with a little tomato sticker on the front, from a nearby kitchen drawer. Spain, the stupid weirdo, had gotten him it when he'd moved into this house, because he claimed that "Lovi needs something to write things on, so he doesn't forget to get food and starve!". Spain had gotten a strong hit in the head for that little comment, but Romano had kept the notebook anyway; he knew that it might come in handy, even if was for other things, like getting pretty girls' phone numbers.

Flipping the notebook open to the nearest empty page, he tapped the pencil point against the lined paper, thinking.

Not too tall, he decided, he didn't want to have to be talked down to like some little kid, the years as Spain's underling had been more than enough of _that. _And they'd have to be tan, because all the pale people he'd ever met had issues with sunburn and were always too dumb to bring enough sunblock. Hmm, and green eyes would be nice, he decided, because green was the color of life, and as everyone knows, "the eyes are the windows to the soul". He wanted someone full of life and energy. God knows that he needed some energy in such a mundane existence. After a moment of consideration, he added "must smile often". Romano rarely got a real smile from most people, or any smile, for that matter. Even if he'd never ask for one, he admitted, grudgingly, that it might be nice to have a friend that was happy enough with him to smile at him. Feli had those kinds of friends, after all, so he could too, right?

Looking down at what he'd written, Romano realized, to his dismay, that everything on the page could be attributed to Spain. _Crap. I've got to start all over now. _

Tearing out the page, he got up and went to the kitchen sink, pulling open the cupboard underneath it and finding, to his frustration, that his garbage can was full, to the point of spilling out if he added anything else. _Dammit, where the hell do I put this thing then? _

He remembered that recycling included paper. But there were no recycling bins in his house, or anywhere near his house, since he lived in a relatively isolated area. He'd chosen this house, he remembered, because it was far enough away from his land's towns, ports, and cities that he didn't get headaches from the noise and air pollution or stomachaches from water pollution, but also close enough that if he drove or walked there early enough, he could still get everything he needed that he couldn't grow or make himself. The fact that his house was also the untouched structure of an abandoned vineyard also was a plus; he got a gorgeous two-story cottage and several large fields of open space (these fields, originally scheduled to be both farmland and a winery grape plantation, were abandoned upon not meeting the standards required to grow the grapes used to make fine wine) all to himself. He'd used his new property as a way to make his own personal paradise: the cottage had its tile roof fixed and glazed, the cottage walls painted a nice butter-yellow color (he'd even painted grapevines and grapes across the walls in reminder of his new home's vineyard origins), he'd put up a picket fence up around property edges, and the fields were converted into a vegetable garden, home to dozens of squash, zucchini, pumpkins (but, out of principle, no potatoes), a small fruit orchard with pears, apples, oranges, and peaches, and one field, his very favorite, was made entirely into a what could only be a _giant_ tomato garden.

His tomato garden was his pride and joy; he'd planted every kind of tomato he could find that could grow in Sicily's soil. He'd lost count of the days he'd spent in this place, tending his garden with a gentle, nurturing hand, bestowing on his own little Eden a love he was unable to express to the outside world. Ciliegino (Cherry tomatoes), Costoluto (a type of large tomato used in salads), Tondo liscio, and Grappolo ('Grape' tomato) all grew especially well in the volcanic soil, maturing into truly beautiful specimens. Other kinds of tomatoes were types he'd brought back from visits to other countries, or ordered from gardening catalogs. Tomato plants bearing fruit of the Oxheart, Beefsteak, Pear, Plum, and Campari tomatoes all had been grown over the years in the ground, in pots filled with soil from the plants' original country, or hanging upside down in "tomato planters" for the tiny cherry tomatoes, in a mockery of his home's original plan to use the field to grow bunches of wine grapes. Tomato vines spilled out all over the ground with wild abandon, entangling green creepers everywhere. Romano kept no labels on any of his plants; he knew each one by heart, and named each one himself, so he knew immediately which was which.

_My fratello isn't the only one who has a way with things. I can grow stuff too, dammit. _

Remembering the extant of his lovely property gave Romano an idea: he could bury his stupid list in one of his fields. The tomato garden seemed like a good place to start, there was plenty of places there to bury the list in the dirt. He headed outside.

Entering the garden through the little kissing gate he'd put up front, he walked to the very center, where he'd planted his very first tomato in his new home. The tomato plant was a "San Marzano", a variety of the Plum tomato, and by this time, under his watchful eye, he'd nurtured it into a gorgeous adult plant, never once failing to gift him with ripe, plump tomato harvests each and every year since he first planted it so long ago. The bittersweet fruit bounty never failed to make his mouth water every harvest season. In thanks for his good harvest, he'd named the plant "Mataya", his little "Gift from God".

Kneeling down into the dirt in front of the plant, he began scooping up deep brown handfuls of the rich, moist earth with his hands, his pale fingers a startling contrast to the almost black soil. Once he was satisfied that the hole, now almost a foot down into the earth, was deep enough, Romano folded up the piece of paper and began burying it under the mound of dug up soil. When the deed was done, he carefully brushed the topsoil smooth and smirked in satisfaction. It would be impossible, unless you knew, to know that the paper was buried here.

Getting up and brushing the soil off his knees, Romano headed back to his house, not looking back.

If he'd bothered to give a backwards glance, he might have seen the tomato plant glowing a faint gold color, a fruit appearing upon the branches that was not the normal rich, fiery color, or the normal somewhat thin shape, but a tiny, roundish blob of a pale white, tinged with a slight toasted brown, emmitting the strangest noise: "_Fusososo..."._


	5. Chapter 4: The Garden Gives A Surprise

When Romano got up the next morning, he knew something was, for a lack of a better term..._off_. He'd woken up _early_, which was awful. He'd gotten halfway dressed for the day before realizing that he'd put his shirt on inside out. His morning coffee had tasted strange, and the overly bitter taste had reminded him, oddly enough, of the bittersweet flavor of the homemade tomato paste he would make each year from the harvests from his "Mataya" tomato plant. _I need to go pick more tomatoes from there anyway, Mataya looks like she'll collapse under all that fruit. _

Upon thinking this, Romano, to his dismay, realized that he needed clothes that wouldn't stain from the juices of any dropped or rotten tomatoes. Sighing, he knew he'd have to find his "Tomato-garden" outfit. This outfit was a "uniform" of sorts that he used for when caring for his tomatoes, as well as for when he cleaned his house. He never wore it outside his property; he knew that if anyone found out that he wore anything like it, he'd be the laughingstock of Europe. And what was worse was the fact that he actually, sort of..._liked _to wear it. The clothes reminded him of a more peaceful time in his life, back when all he'd needed to worry about was cleaning Spain's house before he got home. The stupid clothes were damn comfortable, too.

_God forbid anyone find out that I still sort of like to wear this crap. If that Tomato Bastard ever finds out, I'll never hear the end of it! He'll probably think it's "cute" or something..._

Heaving a sigh, he headed to the supply closet off to the side of the kitchen, opening up the narrow chamber and kneeling down, pulling off a mound of folded sheets and pillowcases to find what he was looking for: a small, rectangular wooden chest with a curved lid, the only thing he'd taken with him when he'd moved out of Spain's care. The chest was a container for items he'd acquired during his days as an "underling", filled to the brim with old photos (Spain had been quite enthusiastic about picture-taking when cameras became available for home use), an old feather duster (which was in rather good condition, given that Romano hadn't often used it), a tall, narrow glass bottle full of sand from all the places Spain had colonized (he'd brought it back one day as a present, telling Romano that the beach had wanted to come visit him), a wad of old headscarves and handkerchiefs that he'd worn when he cleaned, a small box containing an Old World sewing kit, and a long bolt of faded pink cloth, for the times when he'd had to repair his dresses.

Hidden underneath all these things was a small brown bag, which housed Romano's greatest embarrassment: a larger-size replica of his old "underling" dress, apron, and headscarf uniform combo, which he'd sewn himself when he'd first moved here. Over the years, he'd altered the dress for long hours of use, adding several pockets to the front of the apron to keep gardening tools, strings to part of the headscarf to tie it to his head to make sure the wind didn't blow it away, and several extra pockets to the sides of the pink dress for keeping snack food.

Changing into the uniform, Romano tied the strings of his apron securely in the back and returned to the kitchen, filling the dress pockets with several ripe tomatoes he washed and put into a napkin. He'd be out in the garden for a while, so snacks were a must, as he knew he was too lazy to go back into the kitchen to get himself lunch. Slipping on his shoes and grabbing his gardening basket by the kitchen door, he headed out.

When he got to the tomato garden, Romano began to understand why he'd felt as if things were different when he'd woken up this morning. Something was going in in his beloved tomato garden. There was a bizarre glow coming from the center, and he had a terrible feeling his stupid Nonno was behind it.

His beloved "Mataya" was glowing a deep golden color, so heavy with the most mouthwatering, juicy-looking, plump "San Marzano" tomatoes that he'd ever seen. Entranced, he walked over to the tomato plant, golden-brown eyes wide with surprise, reaching out a slightly shaky hand to touch the tomatoes, trying to see if they were real. Pale fingers brushed over smooth, sun-warmed red skin, until he suddenly felt his fingertips brush something soft and warm, slightly grainy, and _squishy. _Something that _moved_, something that was _breathing, _even _snoring_!

Romano let out a shriek (a very manly one, thank you very much) of surprise, and stumbled backwards, eyes wide with shock, before he scrambled to pull out the hedge clipper he used to clip tomato vines. His hands shook nervously; what the hell was in his tomato plant? What the heck was taking a goddamn _nap _in his tomato garden?

...Well, whatever it was, it didn't seem like it was causing any trouble. The rest of the tomato garden seemed untouched, and "Mataya" was positively radiant, in the peak of health. Maybe it was a stray cat or something from the town a few miles away? Cats liked to nap in the sun, and his tomato garden certainly got plenty of that. And he'd spent more than enough hours napping among his tomato plants on a hot summer's day to understand that naps in his garden were quite pleasant.

_Well, if it **is **a cat, it's got to go. I'm not having any animals in here, they'll pee all over my tomato plants and ruin the soil. Guess I've got to come at it slowly, though. If I freak it out, the damn thing will probably try to claw my face off. _

Holding the hedge clippers out in front of him, he slowly approached the tomato plant. Upon coming close enough to peer into the vines and see his target, he almost dropped his hedge clippers in shock.

_Well, whatever the hell this thing is, it's definitely not a tomato. _

Nestled in between two larger tomatoes was a tiny, roundish blob, a pale greyish-white color, tinged with a slight toasted brown. Where there was supposed to be a tomato stem attaching the it to the vine, there was a small patch of messy, slightly curly dark brown leaves, resembling hair. The front of the "tomato" had two large indents resembling, oddly enough, closed eyes, as if the bizarre thing was asleep, and under the "eyes" was a small slit that looked like a mouth. Romano held his fingers in front of the "mouth", and found to his shock that he felt warm puffs of air, as if the thing was breathing.

_Holy shit, this thing's **alive**! _

Cautiously, he pressed a single finger to the greyish-white "skin". His finger rose up and down with each tiny breath. Craning his head closer, he placed the hedge clippers back into his pockets and cupped his hands around his ears to listen in. _Yep, it's breathing, all right. But what is it? _

"Enjoying yourself, Romano?"

Romano fell over in shock, letting out another yell of surprise as he landed on his back in the dirt. Looking upwards, he saw Rome had appeared by "Mataya", and was looking into the tomato vines at the strange "tomato" inside.

"Dammit, _Nonno, _don't _do _that! Give me some kind of damn warning before you show up like this! And why the hell are you still in that stupid costume?"

Rome grinned at him. "Can't a grandfather visit his grandson? Besides, I came to check on how you were doing with your little gift, although it seems like it's not _quite _mature enough yet. And here I thought you'd have it fully-grown when you got it..."

Romano stared at him in confusion and rising anger. "You mean this weird thing in my tomato plant has to get _bigger_? Why? And what the hell is it, anyway?"

His grandfather gave him a disappointed look. "It's your wish, of course! But it looks like you'll have to grow it to full size yourself. Apparently your feelings haven't been fully realized yet, so it's not fully grown..."

Seeing his grandson's continued look of bewilderment, Rome smiled and patted Romano on the head, saying, "Don't worry, I have complete faith in you! Just make sure to give the little guy lots of love and attention, and you two will get along wonderfully!"

_Little guy...? That thing in my tomato plant is some kind of pet or something? _

Before he could even ask what Rome had meant, the old Empire had suddenly vanished again. Romano sighed. _Looks like I'm stuck with this thing. _

Walking over to the tomato plant, he studied the tiny blob, still "sleeping". _Well, I guess it's sort of...cute. Meh, alright. I'll try taking care of it. At least it's still sort of a tomato. And I guess it would be nice to have some kind of company out here._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SEVERAL DAYS LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Romano continued with the upkeep of his property, visiting each of his fields every day to pick fruit and vegetables, before watering and tending the plants and storing his harvest for later. Canning and preserving was a must, leaving the cellar under his house packed with jars of food to keep or sell later on in the markets in Sicily's towns. By the end of each day, his fingers were blistered and his hands cramping up, but it was with pride that he looked at his cellar, stocked to the rafters with crates of preserved food he'd grown and canned himself.

The tomato garden had become even more important to him. Every day he'd take time to go out to "Mataya" and tend the vines, carefully watering and tilling the dark soil, and occasionally talking or singing to the plant itself, having heard from the old women on Sicily that speaking to the plant would help it grow. One old woman at the fish and vegetable marketplace had even taught him the words to an old farmer's lullaby that her mother had sung to her as a bedtime song, called "Stella, Stellina", the "Star, Little Star" lullaby:  
_La_ _notte si avvicina,_  
_ La fiamma traballa,_  
_ La mucca é nella stalla._  
_ La pecora e l'agnello,_  
_ La vacca col vitello,_  
_ La chioccia coi pulcini,_  
_ La gatta coi gattini;_  
_ E tutti fan la nanna _  
_ Nel cuore della mamma!_

It was only the fact that Romano lived in such solitude that gave his considerable pride leave to let him sing to the "tomato" every evening before he went to bed. The "tomato" seemed to like it, though, growing steadily larger every day. Romano couldn't help but feel a bit proud, knowing that the "tomato" was thriving because of _him_. As time went on, a thought occurred to him: despite having named every single tomato plant in his garden, he hadn't yet named the "tomato". It was part of his garden, so it needed a name too, right?

Sitting in the dirt by "Mataya", he pondered names. _Armando? No, too military-like. Albirto? No, too holy-sounding. Adamo? Maybe. No wait...Amato. _

_Amato,_ the Italian name for "beloved". _Well, I certainly love tomatoes. And this thing is sort of a tomato...and it seems to like me...Amato it is. _

Unbeknownst to Romano, in a tree several hundred feet away was Rome, grinning happily. _He's going to make such a good mama._


	6. Chapter 5: That's Not Tofu!

Feliciano landed, still babbling terms of surrender, upon his kitchen floor…and on top of a very surprised Germany, who had been cleaning the kitchen counter. "Italy, vhere did you-?"

_BAM. _ They both crashed onto the floor, Germany letting out a grunt of pain from being Feliciano's impromptu landing pad. Letting out a cry of surprise upon seeing his friend, Feliciano let out a yell of, "Germany! Germany, help! _Nonno Roma_ sent _fratello _somewhere and I don't know where he is now and he said he gave us wishes but he said my wish is here so I need your help to find it-"

"Italy! Shut up and stop rambling!", Germany shouted, as he managed to shove his friend off him and get to his feet. "Vhat do you mean, your Grandpa sent Romano somewhere? Is he doing something he shouldn't?"

The Northern Italian shrugged. "Well, you remember how Romano left lunch earlier? Well, I went after him because I though he'd be lonely all by himself, so we decided to have a snack together instead, and then _Nonno _showed up and told us he was going to grant us wishes after giving Romano and I a big bowl of yummy gelato, ve!"

Icy-blue eyes blinked in confusion as Germany tried to understand his friend's words. "So, you're saying that Rome...granted you and your brother _wishes_?" He nodded. "He had a magic wand and everything! And then he tapped _fratello _and I on the head with the wand and sent us home because that's where our wishes are, ve!"

"You mean that Rome sent something _here_? Vhat did you and your brother even wish for?", Germany said, a feeling of alarm creeping up on him. _If Rome sent something dangerous here..._

"I don't know what he sent, ve! He just said he sent our wishes back home, but all I wished for was gelato, and he already gave us that, so I don't know what he sent!"

Germany managed, with a Herculean effort, to restrain himself from trying to shake his friend senseless. _Great, so Rome sent us something and I don't even know if it's safe to keep. If that veirdo was crazy enough to send us something harmful, the next time I see him, I'll set the dogs on him. _

Feliciano, however, wasn't nearly as concerned with the possible danger. "I wonder where it is, ve... Hey, Germany, can you help me look for it? Please, please, please?" Large, chocolate-brown eyes turned to Germany, the puppy-pout exuding dangerously strong "begging vibes".

"...Fine. But stick close to me. If Rome sent you something dangerous, you'll need someone to protect you, Gott knows you're a danger magnet..."

Germany suddenly found himself with an armful of happy Northern Italian, as Feliciano tackled his friend in delight, shouting words of thanks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SEVERAL LONG HOURS OF SEARCHING LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After turning the house upside down several times over, upending tables, chairs, books, bedcovers, and numerous other things in their search, Germany was pondering whether or not the 'wish" had even been sent. There was nothing out of place that he could find, and the thought that Feliciano might have been tricked worried him. _If zhis stupid thing isn't real, he's going to be very upset..._

Feliciano, however, was having a great time, searching enthusiastically for his "wish", pulling open drawers, cabinets, searching under rugs in the laundry bin. "Here, wishy, wishy, wishy, come to Feli..."

Suddenly, a movement from the kitchen caught his eye. A faint thud was heard, along with several German curse words, and a few chirps. _Germany's fratello Prussia and his cute birdie must be here, ve! _

Hurrying into the kitchen, he saw Prussia climbing in through the half-opened window, Gilbird flitting about in the air a few inches from his head, chirruping encouragement. "Prussia, you're home, ve!", he shouted happily, running forwards to help his friend through the window.

The ex-nation grinned at his brother's best friend. "Hey, Feli, good to see you too. Keep it down a bit, ok? West is totally gonna hate me if he finds out I came in through the kitchen window..." The Northern Italian nodded; Germany didn't like that, it was true. "But Prussia, why are you coming in through the window? Did you and big brother France and big brother Spain get in trouble with the police, again, ve?"

Rubbing the back of his head somewhat sheepishly, Prussia nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a smirk, the glint in his ruby eyes clearly showing that he had no regrets about it whatsoever. "_Ja, _but West'll blow a gasket if he finds out I broke out of jail, so don't tell him, ok?"

Feliciano nodded in understanding. _Germany will find out soon anyway, he always knows. _

"Man, I could go for a snack, though, they didn't even feed me and the guys over there!", Prussia muttered, heading over to the fridge to search for food. He grinned suddenly, pulling out a small, rectangular container, wrapped up in a blue cloth. "Hey, Feli, do you mind if I eat this thing? Japan makes some seriously badass sushi."

At the Northern Italian's nod, Prussia let out a whoop of glee and undid the knots of the blue cloth, revealing a little rectangular bento box, made out of blue plastic with four layers, each containing food. There was a small, square container resting on top of the bento box, which Prussia pulled open to find several small, transparent, animal-shaped bottles of condiments (soy sauce, fish sauce, horseradish sauce, mustard, etc.), a tin of sesame seeds shaped like a little goldfish, and a little plastic "Ziploc" bag holding a fist-sized, square block of what looked like fresh tofu.

Sitting on the counter, Prussia pulled open the bento box layers, handing two to Feliciano, and putting the little container of extra toppings on his knees. "You got any chopsticks?", he asked. Feliciano nodded, pulling open a nearby drawer to pass around pairs of wooden chopsticks he'd gotten as a gift from Japan.

Digging into the food with wild abandon, Prussia gulped down several pieces of salmon rolls, apparently content with gorging himself; Gilbird sat on Prussia's knees, head buried in the sesame seed tin as he followed his master's example of "eat first, think later". Feliciano sat on the floor and opened up the bento layer of steamed rice, dividing the portion in half so Prussia could eat some later, before reaching for the tofu block, intent on crumbling a few pieces onto his food.

The tofu block let out a yelp as his hand closed around it.

Feliciano screamed in shock and jumped up, his food flying off his lap to splatter all over the floor. Prussia swore and dropped his chopsticks. Gilbird twittered in surprise, flying up to take shelter in Prussia's hair.

"What...what is that?", Feliciano whispered, hiding behind the counter. "I dunno, but it looks like it's moving. I'm gonna check it out!", Prussia said excitedly, hopping off the counter and scooping up the toppings container. The Northern Italian whimpered; what if ate Prussia's fingers?

After several cautious seconds, Prussia poked the "tofu" block, and finding no danger, decided to finish eating. "This thing sucks. It's probably dead or something. Oh well, I'm going to eat it," he declared.

The tofu block, from where Italy was hiding, was certainly not "dead", as Prussia so bluntly put it, There were two small indents in what appeared to be the shape of "eyes", and a long, slightly downwards line, like a frowning mouth. The "tofu" block was also, ever so slightly, _shaking. _And talking. Feliciano heard only one word, but it was enough for him to recognize the voice.

"_Hilfe..."_

The Northern Italian sprung into action, lunging across the counter as he screamed, "DON'T EAT GERMANY, VE!"

The "tofu" block was yanked out of Prussia's hands and promptly clasped to Feliciano's chest, cuddled close as he babbled concerns. Prussia stared in confusion as his would-be lunch was pulled away and held like a stuffed animal. _What the hell? ...Don't...eat...West? _

Both nations were interrupted by a sudden, very annoyed voice from the kitchen door. Germany, having heard his cowardly friend's screaming, had run to the kitchen only to find a mess on the floor, along with his idiot brother, his crazy pet bird, and the personification of North Italy, clutching what appeared to be a large block of tofu and _talking_ to it.

"Vhat ze hell did I drink last night...?"


	7. Chapter 6: Rain and Naptime

Romano's careful tending of the tomato garden came to a halt when a sudden summer rainstorm appeared one late afternoon, showering his property with a deluge of warm water from the Mediterranean. The Southern Italian cursed profusely as he was soaked to the bone. Gathering up his gardening tools and pulling his feet from the muddy ground with a loud squelching noise, he stared at the stormy sky with immense annoyance, before making several incredibly rude hand gestures at the rain clouds and heading back to the gate.

He only made it a few feet from the kissing gate of the tomato garden when he realized that his little Amato would end up all alone in the rain if he went back empty-handed. _Crap, __if I go back now, Amato's gonna end up out there all soaked. Tomatoes need water, but they don't need to be drowned in it._

He stood there for a moment, thinking. If he went back inside now, Amato would be lonely, but he'd be dry. If he didn't, Amato would have company, but he'd stay wet and probably catch a cold too.

_...Dammit, I'm going soft._

Heading back through the gate, he made a mental note to scold the little guy when the got back inside.

Dashing over to "Mataya" as fast as the mud would allow, he tried feverishly to remember if Amato had grown big enough to be plucked from the vine. Amato was about the size of a fist now, round and slightly more toasted looking, a nice golden brown tan. _Looks like this'll have to do._

Muttering several curses as he felt his socks become heavy with mud, Romano pulled out his hedge clippers from his apron pocket, and carefully cut Amato from the vine, catching the little "tomato" with one hand as it dropped. Stashing the tool back in his apron, he gently placed the little grayish-white fruit into his remaining empty apron pocket, making sure to close the pocket by buttoning it shut to keep out rain.

Heading back through the gate, he tried very hard not to think about the fact that Amato was coming inside for the first time, and thus he would have company over for the first time in...a while.

Once he'd gotten back to his house, Romano all but yanked the door open in his haste to get in, kicking off his muddy shoes as he went. Yanking his tools from his apron pockets, he dumped the gardening equipment onto his kitchen table, wincing slightly as the heavy clattering of the tools sounded throughout the empty house. _Damn, that's loud._

There was a moment of quiet, before he unbuttoned the apron pocket and scooped out Amato, saved from most of the harshness of the rain and thus only slightly damp. "Well, Amato, looks like it's just you and me."

He hadn't really been expecting a reply, but he got one anyway. The "tomato" in his hands vibrated slightly and let out a soft mumbling noise, as if agreeing with him.

Romano almost dropped Amato, he was so surprised. It was true that he knew that Amato was alive, he'd felt it breathing when he'd first found it, after all, and then _Nonno Roma_ had shown up and told him, essentially, that he needed to take care of it. But that didn't mean it was any less surprising when his tiny charge started making noises, almost as if trying to talk. _  
_

_I wonder if this is how parents feel when they hear their kid's first words._

He felt a warm feeling bubbling up inside him; it took him a moment to realize that the feeling was pride. Pride that he'd gotten Amato to grow enough to actually start trying to talk, even if right now the "talking" was still in the "make funny noises" stage.

Basking in the warmth of the feeling, Romano slowly grew aware that he was still rather wet, and would need dry clothes of he didn't want to end up sick. Cradling Amato in his hands, he headed off to his bedroom, intent on getting a dry pair of pajamas. Even if he didn't always sleep in them, they were good clothes to laze about in, especially on rainy days like this, when all an Italian could hope for was a nice warm bunch of blankets to nap the day away in.

Pulling the door open, he placed Amato on a pillow on his bed, before yanking his closet door open and rummaging about in a pile at the bottom, grinning victoriously as he pulled out some dark red shorts and a tank top. Hurrying off to the bathroom, he quickly exchanged his uniform for his sleepwear, before dashing back to his bedroom, flopping down on his bed with a sigh of contentment.

Turning his head slightly to look at Amato, he wondered vaguely if the little "tomato" was uncomfortable, resting on the cold material. Amato, he knew, had some semblance of body heat as a living thing, but it wasn't much, just a mild heat, like holding a freshly laundered towel. The warm outdoor sunshine had done most of the work in keeping Amato warm, there was no warm sunshine in here, just rain outside. The pillow certainly wasn't going to keep Amato warm either.

_Well, at least no one's around to see me do this. _

Scooping his tiny charge off the cold pillow, he cradled Amato to his chest, curling into a ball to help keep more body heat. Blankets were pulled up his chin as he felt around to his left for a few moments before managing to find the light switch by his bed.

As the room darkened and he felt sleep overtake him, Romano managed to mutter a quiet, "Night, Amato..."

Just before he fell asleep, Romano could have sworn he heard a soft, almost unnoticeable whisper back of, "Night, Mama..."


	8. Chapter 7: Dinner Time

When Romano awoke several hours later, the world outside his bedroom window was pitch black, and it was still raining. The windowpanes were streaked with long streams of water, pouring down in little clear rivers. He could still hear the steady _shhhh_ as the rain fell outside.

_Damn, it's really pouring buckets out there, isn't it?_

Yawning, he pulled himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes as he tried to wake himself up a bit. The blanket fell off him, and he felt a warm, slight weight fall from his chest. The sudden soft mewing noises from somewhere near his navel woke him up completely, as he looked down and saw, to his surprise, Amato, trying to snuggle back into his body to keep warm. _Uh oh, I must've woken up Amato when I sat up. _

Romano wasn't really that good with comforting others, but it was clear that his little friend was cold again, and he didn't want that. Sighing softly for being so mushy, he scooped his tiny companion into his hands and held it up to eye level, saying gruffly, "It's alright, little guy, so no more whining, ok? I'll warm you up." The tiny blob shivered slightly in his hands, before, to Romano's shock, opening its eyes up, revealing a pair of large emerald orbs, staring at him sleepily. A soft purring noise broke the steady pattering of the rain outside.

_Damn, that's a nice shade of green. A__mato's never opened his eyes before, huh? Well, first time for everything, I guess. Little guy started making noises yesterday, so maybe he'll talk soon too. _

Romano felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards at the thought. Maybe he could teach Amato how to speak some Italian...

_Well, if I do that, I can actually talk to someone I like, for once. _

The thought, he had to admit, was rather tempting. No more having to bore himself with just the mindless chatter and annoying arguments of the other nations, no more standing to the side and feeling left out while Spain was too busy with his stupid friends, no more being ignored because stupid Feli got so much attention. No more having to deal with his crazy sibling babbling away about all the stuff he did when he hung out with the Potato Bastard and that Japan guy.

No more feeling second best. Not while he had something, _someone _of his own to be around and actually enjoy being near, without being forgotten in favor of others. Someone he might even be able act nice to.

Even if that someone was a tomato...blob...thing. It still counted as friendship, dammit!

His musings were interrupted by a sudden rumbling noise; Romano realized, after a moment, that it was his stomach. _Crap, I must've slept through lunch and snack time, and now it's almost too late for dinner._

Looking down at the tiny creature in his hands, he wondered if his new friend was hungry too. Could he even eat? He had a mouth, after all...

And if so, could he feed Amato tomatoes? He _had _come from a tomato plant, after all, even if his crazy _Nonno _had used some kind of weird magic crap to cause Amato to grow out of said plant in the first place.

_Would that count as cannibalism, then? Hmm, maybe not, he's not **really **a tomato, after all. But what if he can't eat solid foods? I could make tomato sauce and try getting him to eat that..._

He glanced down at his little companion to find Amato staring at him, big green eyes shining with what Romano realized, with a jolt of surprise, was affection. Affection for _him. _

_Why's he looking at me like that? Nobody ever looks at me like that, except Feliciano and Sp-..._

The thought quickly shut itself down before he could ponder it further. No sense in going down that particular mental road, after all. Not right now, anyway.

Serious thoughts could wait until later, perhaps in the next decade or so. For now, the important thing is to get food for himself and Amato.

Cupping his hands together and interlocking his fingers into a basket shape, he carried Amato from the room, heading to the kitchen to see if there was any pasta left.

There wasn't. _Dammit, Feli, the next time you come over, **tell **me if you eat all the damn pasta! _

Sighing, he walked over to his refrigerator, placing Amato in the counter nearby so he could open up the door to peer inside to artificially-cooled space to see if there were any leftovers. There was nothing, and the realization made Romano rather annoyed. _Dammit, this means I'll have to actually **make **something. Let's see, what is there..._

Shutting the refrigerator door, he looked over to the counter to find Amato shuffling forwards, to his surprise. _I didn't know he could move that much yet..._

It appeared that his little friend was moving towards something, and as he looked into the direction of Amato's movements, he saw, to his inward amusement, that his little "tomato" was actually headed straight towards the blue-green ceramic bowl of freshly picked real tomatoes he'd gotten from his garden a few days before. However, the bowl was clearly too big for Amato to get into it and actually eat anything inside, and his little friend didn't have any arms and legs to help him climb in, either.

_Well, he definitely can't eat those if he can't even get in. Looks like it's tomato sauce for the little guy after all._

He scooped several of the tomatoes from the bowl, taking them to the sink to wash. When that was done, he pondered what kind of sauce would be best: uncooked, barely cooked, or simmered?

_Hmm, maybe the uncooked is best for this. The tomatoes are perfect for that kind of sauce this time of year anyway, and it's too damn hot to try and heat anything up. The seasonings quick too... Alright, uncooked it is. But maybe I should peel them first, I don't want him to choke on the skin if it's too big a mouthful._

Nodding to himself in the logic of the decision, Romano took the tomatoes back to the counter and began preparing them, removing the seeds and peeling the skins, before chopping the red fruits up into very small, bite-size chunks, which he scooped up with his hands and dropped into a small, very shallow bowl from the cupboards (he normally used this bowl to hold sauces or dishes of cream for Feliciano's cat). After this was done, he grabbed the olive oil bottle from his kitchen table, pouring a spoonful or two into the sauce, and mixing it in along with a pinch of salt and pepper, and some chopped parsley flakes from his spice rack.

The "meal" thus prepared, he walked over to Amato, who'd stayed by the ceramic bowl, a puzzled look in his green eyes as he stared at the ceramic bowl keeping him from the tasty red things. Gently poking his little friend on the "forehead", he gestured to the bowl of sauce, and the little blob stared at the red mass in the bowl, clearly confused. Romano wasn't very surprised; until yesterday afternoon, Amato had still been living in the tomato garden, soaking up sunshine and water and nutrients from the warm, rich soil. There had been no tomato sauce to eat then.

Deciding to give his companion a hand, he swiped a finger into the red sauce, bringing it up to his lips and licking it clean, before returning to the bowl, bringing the rim up to his mouth, and miming eating the sauce that way. When Amato still gave no sign of understanding, Romano decided it must be because his friend had no hands or fingers to use.

_Well, I suppose I could always feed him until he can eat by himself._

This was admittedly a rather embarrassing idea, him feeding someone/something else, but what else could he do? Amato couldn't feed himself yet.

Sighing in half-amused exasperation, he went to a nearby drawer and pulled out a spoon, returning a moment later to dip the spoon into the sauce, filling to shallow silver basin, before bringing it to Amato's mouth, and saying, "Aah..."

Amato apparently understood this way much better, because the spoon was all but gulped down, much to Romano's inward amusement. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a faint grin at seeing his efforts rewarded, especially when Amato started cooing and trying to lick away the tomato sauce at the corners of his mouth. Clearly, the sauce was well appreciated.

"Good boy."

Amato cooed at him, big green eyes full of happiness. Romano wiped the leftover tomato sauce from Amato's mouth before gently pulling the spoon away, and then refilling it with more sauce. The bowl was soon emptied, and bits of sauce ended up on Romano's tank top, but that was okay.

He'd gotten to make his little Amato happy. That was worth far more than any damn top.


	9. Chapter 8: Training and Jealousy

Three days.

Three days since that picnic that Feliciano had with his brother somehow led the Roman Empire to leave Feliciano a block of talking _tofu (_at least, that's what Germany thought that it was) that had taken over all of his ditzy best friend's attention. The strange block of animated food had ended up being toted around everywhere the airheaded Italian went, from the kitchen to taste new Italian dishes, to the backyard to take siestas in the sun, and to Italy's bed, where it ended up being cuddled liked a stuffed animal. Germany drew the line when Italy tried to take the thing into the bathroom with him to watch out for toilet monsters (he had his idiot brother Prussia to thank for _that_ particular problem).

However, there was _one _good thing about his friend's bizarre new "pet"": that tofu worked better than any alarm clock he'd ever seen, and that was saying something, considering all the alarm clocks he'd employed to try and get Feliciano's lazy self out of bed any time earlier than noon for training. Every day since the stupid thing showed up somehow as part of Japan's bento box, the "tofu" had not once failed to wake Feliciano up at the crack of dawn for a training run, hopping onto the bedside table and shouting, "ACHTUNG!" like a drill instructor.

However, he couldn't help but feel a bit put out at the lack of attention he'd been getting recently. After all, he was being left out somewhat due to Feliciano lavishing love and attention on the "tofu" block. But he wasn't jealous! No, not jealous by any means whatsoever, not even a little bit.

Somewhere to his right, he heard an annoyingly familiar shriek of laughter from Feliciano as the excitable Northern Italian chased the "tofu" creature around the backyard in a game of tag. He felt his patience level drop to zero, and his annoyance level skyrocket.

_Time to get his attention back to m-...I mean, training. That's it, training._

He blew the whistle around his neck loudly, and commanded his friend to go run several laps around the yard. "And leave the tofu thing alone for a while, verdammte, it's too distracting for you!"

"But Luddyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...!"

"NO! NOW RUN!"

Huffing, Feliciano gave a pout of sadness in response, before sighing and beginning to run around, the "tofu" creature set on the patio to hide from the hot summer sun under a lawn chair.

As he kept pace behind Feliciano, the German nation tried very hard to ignore the feeling of satisfaction that the returned attention gave him. His thoughts betrayed him anyway.

_Aah, much better. _


	10. Chapter 9: Oops, wrong person

Romano had just finished feeding Amato when the house phone rang. Startled, he dropped the spoon onto the tabletop, just barely remembering not the curse in front of Amato as he all but stomped over to the other side of the kitchen, seized the phone receiver, and hissing irritably into the mouthpiece, "What the hell do you want?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line; Romano tapped his left foot impatiently against the kitchen floor, inwardly cursing his head off in annoyance. _Just what is damn important? _

He soon came to regret his impatience as his Northern twin's painfully cheerful voice bubbled through the receiver. "Ve, Romano, did you get your present? I got mine a few days ago, he's so cute! He looks like a a big block of that yucky bland stuff Japan calls tofu, but he's not tofu at all, ve! He's cute and soft and squishy and he talks like Luddy and I just wanna hug him and squeeze him all day long!"

_What? Nonno sent my idiot brother a pet block of talking TOFU? What the hell was he thinking, giving him a pet? He couldn't even keep his stupid goldfish alive when he got them from that Japan guy's summer festivals! He couldn't even feed them the right amount of fish food, and they all overate and got sick, and then when they died, the Potato Bastard didn't even tell him they were really dead, he just said they were "sleeping", and then when he was asleep, they all got flushed down the toilet. And __now Nonno's given him something even more complicated, just great...wait, that thing talks like the Potato Bastard!?_

Romano felt a very unappreciated headache coming on from listening to Feliciano's mind-numbing chatter. Rubbing his temples in an effort to stave off the impending headache, he growled into the mouthpiece, "Feli, for the love of tomatoes, shut up!"

There was an answering giggle as the Northern Italian replied, "Aww, are you tired? You should've taken a longer siesta, Romano! It's good for curing your grouchiness!"

Romano opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced by a sudden cry from behind him: Amato, having finished his dinner, had been watching Romano talk on the telephone, and had become curious enough to try to come closer in order to hear more clearly. Unfortunately, it appeared that Amato had also forgotten where the table edge was, and fell off the edge, letting out a yell of surprise and fear as he went.

Romano dropped the phone receiver instantly, rushing over in a mad dash to catch Amato before his little friend landed on the cold, unforgiving floor. Throwing himself onto the floor with a pained grunt, he managed to grab the tiny creature about an inch from the surface of the floor. Letting out a sigh of relief, instinct took over, and Amato soon found, to his great delight, that instead of hitting the hard floor, he was instead being cuddled firmly against his Mama's chest, being petted.

Romano himself was doing something he almost never did: he was being concerned. In fact, he was being very concerned; his little boy had almost gotten hurt! He'd fallen and nearly gotten injured!

"Darn it, Amato, don't scare me like that!," he scolded, holding Amato up to eye level and waving his pointer finger at him in a gesture of reproval. "You could've gotten hurt, what if I hadn't been able to catch you?"

Amato gave a soft mewl of remorse and nuzzled Romano's fingers in a gesture of apology, his big green eyes gazing pitifully up at Romano's own concerned golden-brown gaze. "Sorry, Mama..."

There was a moment of quiet, and then Romano softened, gently holding Amato close again, content in the knowledge that his little friend was alright. Amato was just happy to be cuddled.

_Well, if it's Amato, I guess I'm kind of supposed to be "Mama" anyway, since I raised him. If it's him, I suppose I can live with it. _

On the other side of the room, unnoticed, Feliciano was wondered why his brother wasn't answering any of his questions. "Hello? Hello? Romano, are you there, ve? Hello?"

Faintly, on the other end of the phone connection, he could hear faint snatches of conversation: "scared me.." "be more careful..." "could've gotten hurt..." "glad you're ok, Amato..."

He didn't understand. Who was Amato? Romano didn't invite people over!

And then came the word turned Feliciano's world upside down: "Mama".

_Fratello's a mama? And he didn't even tell me, ve?_

Something seemed off about the word, somehow. Germany had told him that men couldn't have babies. Was he wrong? Or was Romano special? And if so, why hadn't he told him, his own brother, that he was going to be an uncle? And who was the father?

Feliciano began to grow worried at this thought. What if the reason that Romano kept the baby a secret was because the father wasn't around? But that couldn't be right, Romano couldn't have had a kid by himself, he had much too high standards to choose some deadbeat to have a family with. So what had happened? Did he adopt the child?

_I'd better tell Ludwig. He always knows what to do!_

With this thought in mind, he dialed the phone number, putting the call to Romano's house on hold. When he heard his friend pick up, Feliciano instantly began trying to explain the news:

"Romano's become a mama, ve!"

There was a sudden thud at the other end of the line, and panicked calls in the background. The Northern Italian was surprised as he heard Prussia answer the phone instead. "Feli, Toni just fainted. Mind telling the awesome me just what the hell you told him?"

Feliciano began to realize that maybe he should have checked who was answering the phone before speaking.

_Maybe I should have made sure it was Ludwig first, ve..._


	11. Chapter 10: Well, This Can't Be Good!

When Spain came to, he became aware of two things: one, his head was_ killing _him, and two..why did he feel a pair of hands wandering all over his body?

The scent of expensive perfume floated around him, and he looked up to see the grinning face of France, who gave him a wink before turning to Prussia and saying smugly, "See, I told you zhat he would wake up if I did zhat." Prussia frowned at him, muttering something about creepy Frenchman, before hauling Spain to his feet and giving France a slap around the head. "Ouch! What was zhat for?"

Prussia stared at him as if he was an idiot. "I may be crazy, but I'm not as crazy as you. Don't go groping Toni while he's out cold, Franny, that's not awesome." The wavy-haired man merely gave him a hurt look, as if wounded by the words. Prussia knew better than to be fooled. Giving his perverted best friend one more glare, he turned to Spain and handed him a plastic bag full of ice cubes. "Put this on your head before you bleed out like a stuck pig, man. I'm totally blaming you if West finds you bleeding to death all over his freakishly clean floor."

He took the makeshift ice pack, pressing it to his aching head as he asked, "Um, guys, I'm not so sure what's going on. What happened while I was knocked out?"

Prussia grinned maniacally at him. "Well, after you faceplanted on the floor, Feli went and relayed the big news to West, and the guy pretty much had a goddamn _meltdown. _It was like his brain just short-circuited or something, it was pretty funny. He just stood there for a second or so, like a big statue, and then his left eye got this twitching thing going on, and then he started babbling about how men can't have babies and how it's totally impossible, so Feli panics 'cause he thinks he broke West, so he starts running around screaming for help like a chicken with its head cut off, and then Franny tried to calm Feli down by saying that West just needs some time to reboot, but the little guy doesn't get it and ends up thinking mein bruder's a computer and needs to be plugged in to reboot properly. He went and got a cable from West's office, connected it to the nearest outlet, but then he got stuck. See, he tried to figure out where to plug it in, and then...!"

It took a few seconds for Spain to understand Prussia's ramblings through the haze of pain from his pounding head, but when the message got through, he almost fell over laughing. "Feliciano...he...he tried, tried to-"

He couldn't even finish his sentence, it was too much. Spain fell over, laughing hysterically. France fell over with him, laughter bursting forth as he recalled the events from earlier.

From the other side of the house, a mortified Germany was hiding in his office, an ice pack under his backside as he tried to ignore the shrieks of laughter from his brother and his weird friends. Feliciano had been thrown out of the office earlier, for offering to give his friend's injured body a massage to sooth away the pain from the burns from the cable.

_Why can't I have just one normal day, Gott?_

The cry of his ditzy Italian's voice from outside answered him: "Ve, Luddy, are you sure you don't want me to massage your butt? I promise I'll be gentle!"

He let his head fall against the hard surface of his desk, scowling. _Verdammt, someone up there must hate me. Curse you, Rome. Your grandson is insane..._


	12. Chapter 11: We're off on a Manhunt

Prussia was in trouble. He was in big trouble, and he knew it. _West is totally going to kill me for getting arrested again. I hope he doesn't take away my beer..._

Currently, he, France and Spain, as well as a few other nations, were sitting outside a police station in Rome, getting questioned by about a dozen or so police officers holding notepads, batons, and guns. France was complaining that the heat was making his hair frizz, and Spain...Spain was surrounded by about half the police officers, handcuffed to a lamppost, and loudly protesting his innocence and that carrying an axe was perfectly legal. Said axe was being guarded by two of the remaining police officers, who were making sketches of it to show to the courts as evidence. Austria and Hungary were being questioned for their involvement, as well as Hungary getting her frying pan confiscated earlier for using it to resist arrest by hitting a policeman with it on the head. A rather tired, irate-looking Germany was trying, for the third time, to explain to the police what had happened within the last day or so. This was being made rather difficult, seeing as he had to speak while correcting Feliciano's side of the story, which was being babbled by said Italian while he clung to his friend's arm.

He and his friends had been here for several hours now, and there had been little to no progress. This was not so much the fault of the police as it was Spain's fault for getting them all arrested in the first place.

_The stupid moron just **had **to go on a rampage over Romano becoming a mother. I still don't understand what he sees in such a sourpuss, but I guess that love really is blind. Blind, and **deaf** too. What the hell was he thinking, running off and getting his axe to go hunt the father__ down with? I knew that he's close to Romano, but I didn't think he'd still be nuts enough about him to go off on a freaking **manhunt**..._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~FLASHBACK~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prussia watched, in a mixture of amusement and exasperation, as Spain marched back and forth across Germany's living room, eyes blazing with confusion and a raging anger not seen since his conquistador days. His hands waved back and forth in the air, making exaggerated gestures, as he hissed insults and death-threats under his breath in Spanish and English. Prussia couldn't make much of it out, but from the sound of some of the threats, Spain was going to hunt Romano's "baby-daddy" down and torture him with castration with a dull spoon, running him over with his bull, and then setting all his turtles on him.

France, who'd taken up Feliciano's offer of a drink, was sitting on the couch, sipping a fresh glass of chilled red wine, an elegant eyebrow raised in amusement as he watched Spain shout and gesture and march about like the jealous lover of an overdramatic soap opera. "Really, mon ami, do you honestly feel that upset over Romano becoming someone's _maman_? I'd have thought you'd consider such a thing sweet..."

Spain looked up, his hands still frozen in a gesture mimicking the brutal strangulation of an unfortunate someone. ""Of course I do! My Lovi is a mama and he didn't even tell me! Why wouldn't he tell Boss? Oh my god, maybe he didn't say anything because he had the kid with a jerk, and the stupid bastard left him and the kid all alone!" At this statement, Spain's already furious gaze seemed to turn such a dark green it looked almost black, red-hot rage burning clearly. The hand gestures of strangulation promptly changed to violent tearing and slashing motions, fingers twitching and curling as if to draw blood.

Prussia winced at his friend's terrifying demeanor, wondering if it was a good idea to even have told the news to Spain. At first, he would admit, it had been quite funny to see his friend's shocked expression, and then watch him faint in surprise. But the reaction afterwards hadn't been as pleasant: Spain had gone off a raging tangent, apparently convinced that Romano had not informed him of the child because the "father" was a terrible person, and as Romano's "Boss", it was only fair to be concerned enough to want to beat the jerk's head in, or chop it off with his axe. Or possibly both.

Both France and Spain were surprised, however, when Spain declared that he wanted help in "beating the jackass's sorry face in!". Calls were made to Austria and Hungary, who both were persuaded to help with the "manhunt". Prussia thought it was because Hungary usually thought of such things as "tragic yaoi stories", and Austria would agree to go because Hungary was going.

So, after a while, both nations had arrived, and then, when no one could figure out how to find the "jackass" they were hunting, Prussia had offered for them to use Germany's car. Protests by Germany against this were resolutely ignored, and everyone piled in, driving off to Italy to go ask Romano "who the father was". Spain's axe had been recovered from his house first, and to Prussia's inward worry, it had been sharpened to a blade finer than any razor. He shuddered at what Spain had done with that axe before, and how he'd use it now.

Of course, they hadn't counted on being accosted by the Italian police while on the way to Romano's house. Apparently, Germany's safe-driving had resulted in the car being viewed as going too slow, and when the police pulled them over to talk, one of them noticed the glint of Spain's axe in the backseat, and then had immediately arrested them all for driving in an unauthorized manner and possessing an illegal weapon. Hungary's frying pan was confiscated when she tried to "persuade" (i.e. hit) one of the police officers to "keep their perverted selves away from Roderich!", when said police officer took a liking to the elegant man and tried to ask him out on a date.

Prussia had to admit, that man had _guts_ to ask out someone they'd just arrested, especially considering that said arrested person's overprotective ex-wife was right next to them at the time. He hoped that the new bump on his head from being hit with the frying pan had been worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~IN THE PRESENT TIME~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Germany sighed, before taking out his wallet and a pen and turning to the police officer in front of him. "How much is the bail here again?"

Upon being told how much to bail was, he could practically _hear _the pained screams of his checkbook. Feliciano gave him a nervous smile, understanding that the bail amount was causing his friend some sort of pain. "Ve, don't worry, Luddy, when we get home I'll cook lots of pasta to make you feel better!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache already building up. _I need a good beer after all this..._

In the background, he heard a sharp, metallic thud, accompanied by several panicked shouts in Italian and the sound of a baton swinging through the air. Austria's voice could be heard, trying to placate the angry war-cries of Hungary as she swung her newly retrieved frying pan around. Prussia was laughing manically.

_On second thought, maybe I need a barrel of beer instead..._


	13. Chapter 12: Jailbreak, and Bad Company

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~IN WHICH OUR "ANGRY MOB" STAGES A JAILBREAK WITH SOME UNUSUAL HELP~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of water dripping from the sink was becoming very annoying, a dull, repetitive _plink-plink _of water slowly falling. Germany inwardly cursed the aggravating sound. It had been going on for hours now, and his newest pounding headache didn't appreciate it one bit.

It had been several hours since the police had finished up and taken them inside the police station. They'd all been subject to a body search, and, much to Hungary's chagrin, her frying pan was once again in the hands of the law. Spain's axe, which was found to be too large to fit cleanly into the small weapon's vault, had been stashed in the office of the police Chief instead, the door locked and the key regularly passed between officers during shift changes. After they'd all been disarmed, the officers had locked them in an underground cellblock, with each nation being put in a separate cell to prevent any "escape planning". Two guards would patrol the cells every half hour or so, and another two guards were each stationed at the entry and exit points into the cellblock.

To Feliciano's relief, they'd been provided with food, and although the meal wasn't gourmet by any stretch of the word, it was better than nothing. However, that didn't mean that no complaints had been made. France had been dissappointed that they hadn't been given any wine, and had sulked in the back of his cell for an hour or so, muttering curses under his breath in French. The nearest guard had ended up yelling at him in Italian to "shut the hell up!", with numerous extra curse words added to the mix for good measure. Spain had ended up taking a nap in his own cell, choosing to get some extra sleep rather than listen to the guard yell at France.

Hungary and Austria had endured the jail conditions with a decent amount of goodwill, despite Austria's mumbled complaints about the drafty cell. Both nations had originally been sent to separate cells, but after a moment of consideration from the officer who'd experienced the wrath of Hungary's frying pan, they'd been allowed to stay together, if only to avoid more trouble. Hungary had been distracted for some time now, alternating between talking with her ex-husband to pass the time, and making plans to get back her frying pan, cackling madly under her breath about "getting the Precious back!". The guard who walked by during this planning, Germany noticed, tended to speed up, as if to get past the cell faster.

Germany didn't like being here, but he felt some sympathy for the humans who had to deal with all of them. Prussia certainly wasn't making their jobs any easier, given that, after an hour or so of cracking unappreciated dirty jokes in the hopes of amusing his fellow inmates, he'd gotten bored enough to start _really _annoying people, and had ended up singing, on a painfully loud, off-key note, the German translation of "99 Bottles of Beer on the wall" in an endless repetition. He suspected that his crazy sibling had sung so badly on purpose, just to see if he could get a rise out of anyone. The fact that the sound was amplified thanks to the cellblock's tall ceiling _really _didn't help matters.

The guard shift changed again. Germany looked to the sleeping Italian curled against his side on the prison cot, his slender body shivering slightly in the cool air. He'd put up quite a convincing fuss upon being told that Germany was to be in a separate cell than him, and in the end, those sweet chocolate-brown eyes had won out. The guards had let them stay together.

_He'll catch a cold if he doesn't warm up soon... but the guard's won't let us move to a warmer cell, they'd think we might try to escape, and given how we got arrested in the first place, that's not far off the mark. Hmm, what to do, what to do..._

After a moment, the answer appeared. He pulled off his jacket and draped it around Feliciano's shoulders, bunching the fabric up securely around his best friend's body. The Italian mumbled something in his sleep before snuggling closer, a string of drool forming at the corner of his mouth. The saliva was wiped away immediately, as Germany knew, from experience, that his ditzy friend might choke on the excess spit in his sleep, given that it had happened before (and caused him a massive panic attack). He settled down again, draping an arm around Feliciano to hold him closer.

_It's just to share body heat. Yes, that's it, nothing vrong vith that. Nothing at all. Nothing._

The guard walking by the door gave an appreciative whistle at the sight. Germany swore under his breath and fought down the urge to make a very rude hand gesture.

After a while, it became dark in their cells, and the lights were shut off as the police station began to close up for the night. As the night shift replaced the day shift (as it was so late, only one guard was appointed, though the entry and exit doors were locked), Germany felt, right before he fell asleep, that something strange was about to happen. He fought off sleep, struggling valiantly to keep his eyes open for any sudden changes in the environment.

But there was nothing strange, going on right?

Prussia was sprawled out on his cell cot, sleeping like the dead, his snoring amplified by the lofty ceiling. Gilbird (who'd been allowed to stay with Prussia only because the little yellow bird would peck and scratch at anyone trying to take him away from Prussia) was nestled in Prussia's silvery-white hair, which had been appropriately mussed in order to make a suitable "nest" for the night. Hungary had taken the bed in the cell shared by herself and Austria, her ex-husband being chivalrous enough to give her the bed and sleep on the floor with his jacket serving as a pillow. Spain had fallen asleep in his own cell, and was muttering something about tomatoes. Feliciano was fast asleep against Germany's shoulder, mumbling in his sleep about pasta.

No, no, there was nothing strange going on here. He must be imagining things, that must be it. Germany relaxed slightly, and finally let his eyes close.

Everyone was in their cells, the lights were all off, the night shift was here, there was a man in a sparkly fairy princess tutu standing by his bed-

_Wait, a man in a sparkly princess tutu?_

Germany opened his eyes, and almost screamed in shock. Rome was looming over him, staring at him, a bizarre, almost creepy expression on his face, like something out of a horror movie. _Dammit, why does he always show up like this, in zhe middle of zhe night like a creep!?_

Fighting down the natural urge to yell, he hissed, "Vhat zhe hell are you _doing_ here, you vierdo!?".

Rome grinned at him, reaching down to pat him on the head like a child. "I just wanted to see how one of my little grandsons is doing. I already checked on Roma earlier, they're so cute!"

The German nation glared at him, not at all amused. Pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to help soothe his new headache, he looked the old empire in the eyes and growled, "Cut to zhe damn chase, Rome. Vhy zhe hell are you here? And how did you even get in?"

In response, Germany had, to his disbelief, a large, sparkling wand shoved in his face, the fist-sized glowing star shining like a lighthouse beacon. "Gott verdammt, put zhe damn thing away, or turn down zhe light already, you're blinding me! You're going to wake up zhe whole cellblock with that light! Do you want to attract zhe night shift!?"

Rome stared at him as if he was an idiot. "Heavens no, this is my Tomato Fairy Godfather wand! I took it out to convince you that I used it to get in here, this thing makes great disguises!"

Germany stared at him, confusion running rampant. _Tomato Fairy Godfather wand...? Just what zhe hell was in zhe food I had for dinner here? Did someone put drugs in it? _

"I... Nevermind, just, if you're here, then help us get out, would you? I don't want anyone stuck here until our bosses find out and we end up in even more trouble."

He received a nod, as Rome grinned and gave him a thumbs up. "Don't worry, you'll be out of here in no time!"

A small, soft package was put in his hands, wrapped in a tomato-print handkerchief tied with a bow. "When the guard comes to check on you in the next few minutes, have him confiscate this. My little buddy inside this handkerchief will take care of the rest, and you and your fellow nations can grab the key-ring and unlock yourselves. I'll help you get out of the building from there."

Nodding, still rather skeptical, Germany decided to keep quiet and go along with the plan. It was better than listening to his brother's horrifically loud snoring, at any rate.

About ten minutes later, just like Rome had promised, one of the night shift guards walked up to the cell, peering in for a moment to see if anything had changed. The package from Rome was spotted instantly. "Hey, you, hand that over! You can't hide things in here!"

Fiercely quashing the urge to thank his new luck, Germany walked over, the little wrapped package in hand, and held it out. The bundle was instantly picked up by the guard, the handkerchief unknotted to check the contents.

Then all hell broke loose.

Inside the little square of soft fabric was a small, orange-sized greyish-white blob, with large golden brown eyes, a strange-looking dark brown, gravity-defying curl of dark brown "hair" on one side, and a scowling mouth, which promptly bit the guard's fingers very hard and caused him to drop the handkerchief, its contents, and the nightstick, yelling pained curses in Italian as he waved his injured digit around like it was on fire. Apparently, Rome's "little buddy" had quite the bite.

Still flailing about like a fish out of water, the guard, still distracted with his pain, failed to notice that he'd dropped his nightstick. Germany, however, did notice, and thus did the logical thing to help speed up the escape process.

His hand shot out between the bars of the cell, grabbing the nightstick. Instantly, he was on his feet, leaning as far forwards as he could, and promptly clocked the unfortunate guard in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious with an echoing _crack. _He dropped like a sack of wet sand onto the cellblock floor, completely out cold.

The sound of the guard being knocked out resounded throughout the cellblock, waking up Austria, Hungary, Spain, Prussia, and Feliciano. Prussia took notice instantly of nightstick in Germany's hand and the knocked out human on the floor, and let out a whoop of delight, rattling the bars and shouting gleefully, "HELL YEAH! JAILBREAK!". His fellow nations were a bit more sympathetic to the human's current state, giving a look of sympathy instead.

Without wasting any more time, Germany reached out his hands and pulled the unconscious guard towards his cell door by the sleeves of his uniform jacket. Within seconds, he'd managed to pull the key-ring off the man's belt and began testing the keys on it to see if they'd unlock his and Feliciano's cell. After a few moments of tinkering, the third key proved to be the lucky one, and with a sharp _click_, the cell door swung open.

Germany looked at Feliciano, still rubbing sleep out his eyes, and sighed in resignation. The Italian was picked up and carried piggyback, as Germany headed out his cell and began freeing the others. Hungary received a glare when she opened her mouth to comment on the sweet sight. Prussia smirked at him, ruby eyes glittering in amusement.

Gilbird was employed by a maniacally cackling Prussia to pick the exit door's lock system, leaving Prussia to look to his fellow nations and grin smugly. Austria merely gave him a disgusted look.

Just as the last lock opened at the nations began to file out of the now open door, Spain suddenly let of a yell of surprise and delight, doubling back to run over to the fallen handkerchief by the unconscious guard. He reappeared moments later, carrying the handkerchief and its bizarre blob occupant in his hands, cooing to the strange creature in Spanish. "He's so cute! I'm going to name him Little Lovi!"

Germany opened his mouth to question this, but decided, in the end, to keep quiet instead. _Vell, I guess I've seen stranger..._

The rest of the police station was deserted due to the lateness of the hour, save for a snoozing, rather fat guard sitting at a desk, his hat over his eyes to block out the ceiling light. The nations snuck past him silently, though Germany had to drag Prussia away by the arm to keep him from drawing on the sleeping man's face with a nearby black magic marker. After some more lockpicking thanks to Gilbird, Hungary and Spain got their respective frying pan and axe back.

When they got outside, a red, oversized Ferrari awaited them, the keys still in the ignition, along with a note taped to the dashboard saying only one sentence:

_Get so much as a scratch on it, and I'll make you disappear. Cheers, Rome~_

Germany rolled his eyes, getting into the car and making sure everyone had their seatbelts on. "Like I even vould get one scratch on it..."

A sudden screeching noise hit his ears, and he turned around in the driver's seat to see his idiot brother scratching **THIS CAR'S VITAL REGIONS ARE NOW THE SOLE ****PROPERTY OF THE AWESOME PRUSSIA **onto the door next to him, using a key that he'd obviously taken with him from the night guard's key-ring.

_Gott verdammt. _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~THE "MANHUNT" GETS TO ROMANO'S HOUSE, AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Romano was humming quietly to himself, his knees covered in fresh, dark earth from an afternoon spent, quite pleasantly so far, in his tomato garden. Amato, who had been brought with him (Romano wouldn't admit it, but he felt uncomfortable leaving Amato in the house all alone), had taken a leaf out of his "Mama's" book, and had ended up taking a late afternoon siesta, although unlike Romano, the little creature was quite happy to snooze away in the tomato-collecting basket, curled up under Romano's snack handkerchief, and snore like a tiny foghorn.

There was a light summer breeze, and the air was warm, but not overly hot like before. There were no trees in his tomato garden to offer shade, but the day hadn't reached a point where it was unbearable to be outside. The Southern Italian sighed, for once content.

_Today's not so bad. At least it's not so damn hot out. Now, where did I put my tomato basket? _

Upon reaching into the basket for another tomato snack, Romano accidently picked up Amato instead, causing the tiny creature to wake up, and upon seeing his "Mama", start cooing and nuzzling his fingers immediately. Romano felt the edges of his mouth curve upwards into a slight grin, fingers reaching up to pet Amato.

In the distance, the ringing of the house doorbell could be heard, echoing like the clanging of a church bell. A faint humming noise could be heard as well, like a motor running.

_Dammit, I'm actually having a good day, and then idiots come knocking at my door. I'd better got scare them off my property..._

Sighing, he gathered up the tomato basket, placing Amato inside and instructing him to hide under the handkerchief "because I don't want you to be seen by stupid people", and went to answer the unwelcome house call.

_I swear to God, if my idiot fratello brought the Potato Bastard here, I'm banning him from coming back here ever again. _


	14. Chapter 13: Hungary's Picture Time!

Romano had just barely managed to open the side door to get into his kitchen, when the front door came down with a sharp, echoing _crash_. He swore immediately, ducking behind the doorway to peer out at the people invading his house.

His formerly-immaculate front door was now a mess of broken wood, cleaved into bits. Stepping over the mess and into the house was Spain, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, and a wickedly sharp axe in one hand, dust and wood splinters coating his body. Hungary all but threw herself through the doorway after him, looking as if she was caught between grinning maniacally at Spain's rage, and going out of her mind with worry due to the apparent situation. Germany and Feliciano followed behind, Germany's expression concerned at the lack of discernible movement in the house, Feliciano looking worried as well, calling out, "Ve, Romano, where are you? Are you hiding? We want to talk to you!"

Austria and Prussia stayed in the car, choosing to keep watching from a distance, rather than be potential targets for Romano's inevitable wrath at finding his home invaded by crazy nations. Prussia, judging by the annoyed look on his face, was trying, and failing, to get Austria to agree to place bets on which nation would get their butt kicked first.

Romano didn't respond, instead struggling to figure out how to best clear out his home of the idiots that had come in. Amato hid underneath the handkerchief, peering out from under the fabric edge to whisper questioningly, "Mama, who is it?"

Romano shushed him, whispering back, "Idiots. If they find us, I don't know what will happen. But you need to stay quiet, or they might see you and freak out. I don't want them to take you away..."

Amato blinked, before mumbling in agreement, curling back under the fabric. The people that had come into his mama's house sounded scary, and he didn't know if they were bad or not. All he knew was that his Mama would protect him, that much was sure.

Spain walked into the house, eyes full of fiery wrath, the usual sunny green shade darkened with so much rage so as to seem almost black. He passed his axe from hand to hand, fingers gripping the hilt tight enough to make the metal creak ominously. "Lovi, are you in here? Come on out, we need to talk!"

Germany surveyed the silent, empty house. There was no movement, no sound, save for the twitching motions of Spain's fingers as he squeezed the axe handle, and the nations' own breathing. "Spain, there's no one here. Maybe Romano went out to buy groceries. So calm down and put zhat damn axe of yours away, it's too dangerous to have you swing it around like zhat. Besides, if anyone _is _actually here, I doubt they'll want to talk if you're seen holding a deadly weapon. "

Spain glowered at him, but relented, setting the enourmous axe against the hallway wall by the ruined front door, a scowl on his face as he began wandering through the house, calling for Romano. Germany sighed, muttering under his breath about idiot nations, and then picked up the axe and took it back to the car parked outside, locking it in the truck and giving his brother a warning not to pick the lock (under threat of no beer for a month). Feliciano walked through the halls, whispering timidly for his brother, and wondering fearfully if he was alright.

By this time, Spain had managed to make his way to the kitchen, fingers still twitching madly for an axe that was now out of his reach. "Lovi, are you in here? Come on out, it's just Boss!"

There was no answer; Romano, spotting the approach of Spain, fled his hiding place behind the doorway, Amato still hidden in the basket dangling from his arm, dashing out to seek refuge in his tomato garden. Hopefully, he wouldn't be followed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~BACK WITH SPAIN AND THE REST OF THE MANHUNT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Somewhat unfortunately for Romano, Spain was not about to give up so easily. He was determined to find his former "underling" and talk to him, even if he had to break down every door in the house to find him. _Although that's probably not such a good idea. Lovi will already be upset with me for breaking his front door into bits..._

As he surveyed the kitchen, empty of other people, he began thinking. This wasn't as uncommon as some might think.

Spain wasn't unhappy that Romano was a mother; on the contrary, France had been right, Spain found such a concept quite cute. However, he felt sad that Romano hadn't told him about the child, he would have came over to visit them.

He wondered what the child was like. After all, Feliciano had only told them that Romano had become a parent, not actually about the child. But Romano, he thought, probably wouldn't have more than one. Too much attention would be needed to take care of a child for him to want to take on another one without help, and from the looks of the empty house, there was no other help whatsoever.

_An adopted child, maybe? Maybe a toddler, I don't know if Lovi would be able to take care of a baby without getting frustrated and mad a lot, since babies take a lot of work and care... And what would the child even look like? Does he have a daughter, or a son? Does the child look like him? Can they talk yet, walk yet, eat on their own? Has he started trying to teach them things yet? _

Spain realized, with a jolt of dismay knotting up his insides, that he wasn't even sure he even wanted to know that much. For all he knew, Romano could have had the child ages ago, and hidden them away. This house was certainly remote enough to do that. And since he didn't ever really have company over, and he didn't like being around most of the other nations very much, it would make sense that even Feliciano wouldn't have known about the child's existence until recently.

_How old would this kid even be? Nations live for a long time, after all. This child might have been around for years, and no one noticed._

The sudden urge to smash something with his axe surged through him, and his fingers twitched automatically, trying to grip the handle of a weapon that had been locked safely out of reach. _If I ever find that miserable excuse for a father, he's going to taste the blade of my axe. Stupid excuse for a person doesn't deserve to have a kid with someone as good as Lovi._

The house was empty, the windows shut and covered with curtains in order to help keep the rooms cool and dark. There was no noise to be heard, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and the creak of the floorboards as the nations walked around, looking futilely for Romano.

Spain leaned back against the living room wall, feeling drained and very confused, anger still surging through him. _I need a break. If I don't calm down, I'll probably try to smash something else, and then Lovi will be even angrier. _

Searching for something with which to distract himself, he felt a slight squirming sensation in one of his jacket pockets, accompanied by faint rustling from the fabric lining. He grinned slightly upon remembering what was hidden in his jacket pocket.

Reaching in with tan fingers, he gently pulled out the tomato-print handkerchief, letting it fall open in his hands. Sitting in the middle of the little square of fabric was the creature he'd taken with him from the jail.

Spain studied the tiny blob in his hands. The little creature was about the size of an orange, with greyish-white "skin", that little dark brown "hair" curl that looked so much like Romano's curl, and those big golden-brown eyes that stared at Spain as if he was an idiot.

_Definitely the right name for him.  
_

"Hello, Little Lovi," he whispered softly. "The car ride wasn't too bad, was it? My pocket was comfy enough?"

The blob glared, eyes shining with childish annoyance as it stuck out its little strawberry-pink tongue and blew a rasberry at him. Spain laughed in response, feeling the anger from earlier drain out of him at the cute sight. He pressed the squishy creature against his cheek, nuzzling the tiny body as he cooed, "You're so cute!"

Little Lovi, as he had been so strangely named, bit his cheek in reply, as if trying to make Spain take back the cuteness comment, but the blob had no real teeth to bite with, and so merely created a soft tickling sensation, the grainy surface of the little body making a faintly scratchy feeling. Spain laughed again. _It's like he's trying to give me a little kiss._

There was a sudden squeal, a sound like a flash going off, and a sharp _click_ from behind him, and Spain turned around to see Hungary standing behind the door frame, a camera held in her hands as she giggled happily.

She waved a hand in dismissal as Spain opened his mouth to speak to her. "Oh no, don't mind me. Just carry on like I'm not even here."

Upon catching sight of Hungary, Little Lovi immediately turned around to face away from Spain, pointedly refusing to look either nation in the eye. Spain's face fell slightly at this, and he gave an upset look to Hungary, who gave him an apologetic look in turn and hid the camera in the pockets of her apron. He could hear a grumble of, "Stupid tsunderes and their darn shyness for public affection...".

There came a shout from another part of the house, and both nations rushed out of the living room to find Feliciano in the kitchen, staring into Romano's refrigerator with an expression of utmost horror on his face. Hungary gave him a concerned look, moving across the kitchen to give him a hug as she said gently, "What is it, Feli?"

Feliciano let out a wail of misery. "I CAN'T FIND ANY PASTA, VE!"

Germany, who had been looking through the back of the house when he'd come rushing in to respond to his friend's yelling, sighed, a look of tired resignation on his face, and reached into one of the pockets of his jacket. A small box of dried pasta was held out to Feliciano. "Here, go make your damn pasta and stop vith all zhe yelling."

The camera in Hungary's apron pocket was whipped out and snapping pictures within the space of only a few seconds, as the Italian grabbed his friend in an enthusiastic thank-you hug.


	15. AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ!

**IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ!**

**To all you readers and followers of my stories, please note that there will be NO updates or uploads of ANY stories of mine from June 6, 2013-June 26, 2013 (unless I am very lucky and can beg a relative to let me use their computer to type).**

**The reason for this is quite simple: I'M GOING TO EUROPE THIS SUMMER!**

**Yes, that's right, I'm going off to that madcap continent of gorgeous European history, equally gorgeous people, and general tourist-attracting awesomeness. My family and I are heading to Western Europe for about three weeks or so, give or take a few days, and as this is the first time that I've gone to Europe since I was about five or so years old, I'm quite excited. The only memory I've got from then is when my Grandma took me to feed the goats.**

**I can't wait to go, we're spending time in England, Wales, France, Spain, and Germany, and possibly Switzerland and Italy! **

**The fact that I'm an avid Hetalia fan, proud Doctor Who nut, lifelong Harry Potter fanatic, _and_ a longtime history lover is also quite influential on this, since the entire time I'm over there, I'm probably going to be preoccupied with thinking about "Where _am_ I on this nation's body?" or "Wait, is that a TARDIS!? No wait, it's just an ordinary 1960s police box, never mind, false alarm! Although my Tardis key won't work on it, then..." or "Oh Merlin, that's that studio movie set for Hogwarts! I want to see inside, let me in, let me in! I've got a wand!" XD**

**The fact that I get to go to England first (and last, we're leaving through Heathrow) is also a major plus, as my family is convinced (and quite rightly so) that I seem to have an obsession with the United Kingdom's popular culture and history, which is probably due in part because I was raised on a literary diet of Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Peter Pan, and have a lifelong love of tea, scones, and fish n' chips. My liking of Eddie Izzard humor also plays a massive part in it, since now I can't even look at the European Union without thinking of the European Dream of "Hilda! Hilda! Wake up Hilda! I dreamt that every single country in Europe spoke a different language and they hated each other. Oh wait, that's true isn't it?"**

**My family each gets to choose a part of Europe that they want to visit, so this is a basic list of where in the massive European World Meeting chaos we'll be in for most of June:**

**1) ME: I chose the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, so I get to go to London (though thankfully my folks remember which side of the road to drive on), Stonehenge ("Helllllllllllllooooooooooooo, Stonehenge! Whoever takes the Pandorica, takes the universe!" XD), Torchwood (though the lack of Captain Jack Harkness will be a bit off-putting for my inner fangirl), the RAF Museum (I'm going to be looking at all the uniforms for ages and ages), Churchill's bunker (Which, thanks to that "Skyfall" movie last year, I will forever associate with a secretly relocated base of operations for the M16), plus that nice town in Wales that is dedicated completely to Doctor Who (which means my family will probably have to drag me away kicking and screaming "NO! I don't want to leaaaaaavvvvvvveeeeeeee!")! I even get to bring along my friend Ellie's special "Weeping Angel" edition hand painted converse, so I can RUN LIKE THE 10TH DOCTOR (Although it will be a bit harder to take off my shoes if I have to look without blinking)! And I get to drink all the tea that I want, which is great since I consume over a pint every day over here alone, over there I can go wild and no one will stare at me like I'm nuts! **

**2) MY SISTER: She chose France (for me, it's the land of the fashionably-dressed and the home of great cheese), so we're going to fly over there from England into Paris (I kind of wanted to take the Tube, since it reached the big 150-anniversary this year and if I could I would stay in England longer, but my folks said no, it's too crowded). We'll be sightseeing tourists in silly clothes, lugging backpacks and trying to drink the Starbucks that have sadly invaded such a lovely country. The Louvre, the Tour Eiffel, and several old castles are on the list of stuff to see, although my sister and I are going to be tour guides for this particular country (I took 4 years of French, my sister took 2 so far), so hopefully we won't get lost! I'm going to feel kind of strange over there, since I'm going to be able to eat all the bread and cheese I want (two things my mother has claimed for a long as I can remember that I could literally live off of if I wanted to), but I'm the only one in our family that drinks tea on a constant basis (everyone else drinks coffee, which I don't like whatsoever, since it's too off-tasting for me)...**

**3) MY MOM: Spain is her choice. She really wants to go somewhere nice and sunny and friendly, and Spain is a good place for that sort of thing. I just wish that I could stop thinking of Hetalia's Spain though, since I'll be over there and all I'll be able to think of is "Hmm, how close am I to Spain's butt?" (if you're wondering about that, just remember that he has a great-looking backside XD). And since we're going in June instead of August or September, unfortunately, we can't take part in the tomato-throwing festival, which looks ridiculously fun and amazing to do (Seriously, it's a day where you're literally all but _required_ to throw tomatoes at each other like a crazy paint war, that's awesome!).**

**4) MY DAD: He wants to go to Italy. In which case, we're going to be facing wild, possibly dangerous drivers (where my Dad will fit right in, since he drives really fast and is kind of reckless at times), loads of great food (I'm probably going to inwardly yell "PASTAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" every time I eat something), incredible artwork (I'm using some of my allowance to buy some pencils and a sketchpad for this country), and visiting Rome (in this case, all I'll be able to think about the whole time is Grandpa Rome on the gondola back in WW2 singing "In Hell, all the cooks would be British, the police would all be German, and the engineering would fall to the French..." XD) and the Roman Coliseum.**

**5) SWITZERLAND AND GERMANY: I know that Germany is a definite place we're going to, since I have a ton of cousins and relatives over there (My paternal Grandmother lived on a little farm on Silesia with her family, a bunch of farm animals, and possibly the most dangerous children's swing set in all of Europe (it was literally a pair of ten feet tall wooden stakes (a bit like the logs they throw in the Highland Games), with a thick plank of wood suspended by two thick metal chains, and the swing seat was at least six feet off the ground. You had to stand on it to swing properly, and one time someone swung too far out and ended up flying off it and landing face first (unharmed but very stinky afterward) in the manure pile XD). I love German food, my Grandma literally raised me on that stuff, it's delicious (although now our sauerkraut jar at home is half-empty thanks to my efforts).**

**Switzerland, I'm not so sure if we're going to go visit. We have some relatives living there, but I don't know if our schedule will allow us to go for longer than a day or two at most, if even that. If we do go, I hope we can see the Cern Facility, it looks really, really cool. Although I'm probably going be feeling paranoid most of the time...**

**And as I'm of drinking age in Europe now, I CAN HAVE BEER (And wine, but that's beside the point)! Hopefully, no one in my family gets crazy with the alcohol, since over half my relatives in Europe are German, and their beer is supposed to be awesome. If I actually get drunk, hopefully I don't end up acting like Prussia, since I don't want to be arrested. Prison would be bad for me, I'd annoy everyone else in there by spouting facts about Wrackspurts and Nargles all day.**

**Well, I've got finals to do (my math teacher seems to be human incarnate of the sadistic pink bunny rabbit from that "When You're Evil" fanmade music video), stuff to pack into my backpack (just the essentials: duct tape, clothes, spare tea, etc.), and then it's off to the airport full of super-paranoid American security precautions (though you can't really blame them), and then praying to Jashin, Warg, Pein, L, Merlin, and every single deity from the "Percy Jackson and the Olympians" series that we don't end up with an exploded engine, or crash onto an island like on "Lost", or end up becoming trapped and super paranoid and threaten to throw each other off the plane like on that episode of "Doctor Who" entitled _Midnight. _**


	16. Chapter 14: I'M BAAAAAAACK!

**Hello, my beloved minions! I mean, readers, yes, that's it, readers, hehe...**

**I have returned from that lovely, madcap continent known as EUROPE! Almost three whole weeks of nothing but MADNESS! THE MADNESS!**

**Three weeks of sexy European accent overload, three weeks of tasty foreign food, three weeks of driving around in a crazy rental car with a GPS so horrible that, in honor of the author DragonQueenSori, who came up with such a hilarious thing in the forst place, I ended up dubbing the damn thing the infamous name "Hitler" (I'm not kidding, that thing was EVIL. It wouldn't take any address punched into it, it would send us all over the map with super complicated directions, then it told us to turn or stop where we shouldn't or couldn't, and it wouldn't take any GPS coordinates we put into it. All the while with that same monotonus voice that made me want to tear it out of the rental car and stab it with something. The GPS in France was, if possible, WORSE: this one had all the flaws of the first GPS, but it also wouldn't tell us where to turn until we were already doing the turning, and it's directions were even more horrible. We typed in the coordinates to get to the CERN Facility in Switzerland (we had enough time to go visit for a day if we got up early to get a head start on the driving), and it sent us to a campground...in the mountains...in the the middle of one of the barely-mapped areas...on a one-way only road. Mom and Dad got so angry that we couldn't find CERN that we almost didn't go because Dad refused to drive unless Mom would help him find the right directions. Dad and I named this GPS "H2" after he vetoed "Napoleon".). And then the French gave us the wrong rental car, we asked for a Mercedes and we got a rental car that had no English instruction manual, too many unexplained buttons, a stuck "child safety lock" on both sides of the back seat, and a very narrow front window...which got a crack across the windshield after getting hit by a rock in high-speed traffic while driving in Germany. **

**But the people we met across Europe were pretty cool, very helpful and polite to us. In England, I even met a nice Australian man and his lady friend who showed me where the nearest store with Jaffa Cakes was. Those things are AWESOME, I ended up splitting a three-pack with my sister by Buckingham Palace and then my Dad surprised me with a supersize pack the next day (which I ate within about 3 days with only a little help, I think I left the UK as a permanent Jaffa Cake junkie).****The people in Wales and France were pretty nice too (well, in France we did have a few problems when we ran into this very aggressive waiter in St. Tropeze who insisted that we order exactly as he wanted us to, or else we could leave. We ended up eating that night at the restaurant across the street, which had a very nice waitress who my sister and I translated for, since she didn't speak enough English to talk to my parents.). I just wish that the French in Paris would be a bit...more hygenic about their sidewalks and streets. Everywhere we went in Paris, the pets and birds left little disgusting "presents" everywhere that no one would clean, so we had to step around them all the time. The smoking, though, we could deal with alright, since most of Europe likes to smoke everywhere, even though it made it kind of hard to enjoy a meal at times when the guy behind or in front of you is surrounded by a cloud of smoke that gets blown your way by the wind all the time. The Doctor Who experience in Cardiff was awesome, Dad even got to try out a spare Dalek prop and freak out the other visitors with "Exterminate! Exterminate!" every few minutes, and I had a major fangirl moment upon getting to check out all the costume props (although the regeration of the 10th Doctor they had replaying in the background of the 2005 Tardis control room made me want to cry...). The Harry Potter Experience on the outskirts of London was also epic, they gave us a full tour and showed us all the major props and costumes and sets involved, and I got to have Butterbeer for the second time in my life! That stuff really _is _magic. Although the fact that they only sell it both there and in Florida made it kind of hard not to crack up laughing...Darn my Hetalia associations with international locations. St. Tropeze was a great little French town by the sea, nice people, good food (although everyone wanting to order the beef stew with gnocchi made it hard to decide on dinner), and there was even a nice little Italian gelato shop where the servers scoop out triple-scoop ice creams that they sculpt into the shape of blooming roses (and let me tell you, the "after-dinner" mint chip, chocolate mousse, and "Tiramisu" ice cream combination is pure _magic_.). **

**Getting to France from Wales was harder than we thought it would be: only a few minutes after boarding the flight to Paris, we were informed by the pilot that our flight would be delayed for an hour or so because the French airport we were supposed to land in had all its workers go on strike. It was quite awkward for me, I'd never experienced that before. Although it _was_ kind of funny to hear the pilot sigh and tell us over the intercom, "Attention all passengers, terribly sorry about the delay, but the French have gone on strike again. Would anyone like a complementary drink while we wait?" **

**Dear Merlin, between the British Museum and the Louvre, I think I could just live in museums forever and ever, there's just so much cool stuff to see! Dad and I both can stay at a museum for hours, it drives Mom nuts. Between those two places, I don't think that I'll ever need to see Egypt or Greece, there's so much stuff from both places, it's insane. Switzerland was cool, the CERN Facility was a total geekout-fest for me, since I like Physics, but the 55 MPH driving speed they had everywhere drove Dad nuts XD**

**I really liked it in Germany, the food was delicious, the architecture was gorgeous, and the people were nice. Since I have tons of relatives over there, we stayed with several cousins and their families. Their households remind me of Hobbit-holes: warm, cheerful, homey, with a bunch of stuff everywhere, and enough food and nice company for you to want to stay forever. Beer has officially become part of the things I miss about Europe, since I'm still too young to drink in the U.S. and I've become used to having it at mealtimes. I can just _see _a mental image of a tiny little Prussia chibi scowling because there will be no proper beer...**

**I'm seriously going to miss being able to eat the food in Europe, so fresh and not stuffed with preservatives and hormones. Even the little bakeries and meat shops they have are better than all the supermarkets back home, where you** **have to go to a pricey specialty shop to get anything even close to really good quality. **

**And as insane as it may sound to some, out of all the different kinds of food we had in Europe, I honestly miss England's food the most. Yorkshire Pudding, endless custard jugs, the bottles of ginger beer, the endless cups of tea (I kind of overindulged, since Mom wouldn't normally let me drink so much back home, but it _was_ England, so she let it slide), Jammy Dodgers, Jaffa Cakes, fish n' chips, meat pies, baked beans on toast for breakfast, and about a million other things that I tried that I miss. I even miss the black pudding, and my mother thought I was crazy for liking that. Well, at least if I study over there, I know that I won't starve. Mom and Dad were surprised at the food, they (well, unfortunately, my Mom did, my Dad can, and will, eat pretty much anything) thought the food would be bad, but it turns out that the food was great! Dad even joked that the "bad cooking" stereotype was a rumor created by jealous Parisians XD **

**The food aside, I'm going to miss the double-decker buses (seriously, sitting in the front row up on the top level is like the ultimate shotgun, you see everything), the lights all over the city, waking up to listen to the hustle and bustle of people outside...And the accents. I'm usually pretty good about not being a part of stereotyping, but accents in the UK are like a vocal version of high-quality chocolate to me, and I'm known in my family as a chocoholic. I am an accent fangirl, and I'm proud of it!**

**I'm also rather surprised to find so many Doctor Who references that seem to have popped up while I was in Europe. Aside from the Doctor Who Experience itself, in Germany we had three things happen on the same day: one of our older relatives had a statue in his garden that looks disturbingly like one of the "Saved" interfaces from the Doctor Who episode _Silence in the Library_, and on top of that, we took family pictures and Dad, the camera man, kept telling us "Stay out of the shadows!", and then when we were driving later on the rock hit our windshield and made a great big crack. Not to mention I kept finding Tardis blue stuff everywhere: blue buildings, blue jewelry, blue clothes, even a man in a Tardis blue full-body jumpsuit in England who passed us by when we visited a food festival. Weird, huh?**

**Unfortunately, we didn't get to go visit Spain, or either half of Italy. There wasn't enough time, since the schedule Mom planned for us didn't allow for it. Hopefully the next time I go to Europe, I'll be able to go see it. Although in France we had a ton of tourists from Italy and Spain on the beaches with us, so I still got a bit of a taste of both countries. **

**Anyway, thank you very much for being so patient with me these past few weeks away. I hadn't gotten the chance to get on the computer until recently, since my sister and I had no access to technology during the trip. However, we stayed the last few days of our trip with a wealthy realtive and his family (they own and operate a manufacturing and distribution business for high-quality organic wine), and they were nice enough to let me use their Ipad to type up this and the chapters I wrote in my notebook. I'll be uploading each chapter that I wrote while I was on vacation one at a time, so the updates will probably be between one to three times a week if possible, depending on the rest of my summer plans and homework. **


	17. Chapter 15: Nations, Start Your Engines!

**It has recently come to my attention, due a recent review, that the past few author's notes have, essentially, been used by me to treat this site as a blog of sorts. After all, I have no pets at the moment to rant this stuff to. Rest assured, I had no intention of doing that. In an attempt to rectify the situation, I've finally managed to write this chapter, pitiful as it is, and type it up. Hopefully, it'll suffice in quelling any potential negative emotions. The next part of this chapter will be posted within the next few days, since I'm going to be busy with my godparents and family.**

**On that note, Happy 4rth of July, everyone! Have a happy, crazy, fireworks-spectacular day! Just don't take a leaf out of Deidara's book and blow yourself up in the process, okay? Also, Happy (belated) Canada Day! Hug the nearest polar bear plushie and be sure to remember to cherish your maple syrup and pancakes for breakfast! **

**This chapter has been brought to you thanks to a nagging conscience, a need to use humor to help combat the annual "4rth of July/American Revolutionary War angst-fest" that floods the Hetalia archive around this time every year that seriously leaves me wishing to give England a hug, ****an 8-hour trip down south to visit my godparents, and a steaming cup of English breakfast tea with milk and sugar. Yes, I _do _drink tea on the 4rth of July, and I don't care if that makes me seem like a Benedict Arnold. I need my tea fix like Germany needs beer. **

**A warning for all PrussiaxHungary, PrussiaxAustria, AustriaxHungary romantic pairing shippers out there that might be reading this: this chapter contains slight hints of PrussiaxAustria, but not as a definite pairing. Prussia is merely making the observation that, from a sexually attractive viewpoint, Austria is indeed quite attractive, in an elegant sort of way. I just doubt he'd really act on it often, given the fact that Hungary's quite protective of Austria and wields the considerable power of the Great Frying Pan of Doom.**

**In regards to any actual crushes or romantic interest, Prussia, I think, would not be looking for that sort of relationship with Austria, at least not now. I always personally pictured him as seeing Austria as the sort of longtime friend/acquaintance/former enemy that you've known long enough to make unexpected visits to, help yourself to their fridge without asking first, and occasionally hit on and/or grope just for kicks because you know you make the other person feel kind of awkward and pissed off while simultaneously helping boost their ego XD **

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Back at the car, Prussia had become rather bored. After all, the other nations were already looking for Romano's supposed "jackass" significant other (if he even existed, as Prussia privately thought the kid, if there even was one and Feli hadn't misheard, was likely adopted since Romano didn't seem the type to want to settle down), so he wasn't really needed to help with the search. Austria, on the other hand...well, Prussia thought he was partially here just to be huffy, elegant eye-candy. Not that he'd ever say so, it wouldn't do any good for Hungary to find out somehow (and he knew she'd find out, one way or another) and end up severely injuring him. The last time he'd hit on her ex-husband, he'd ended up in the hospital for a week recovering from the massive amounts of bruising, blood loss, and broken "perverted" fingers, and his brother had refused to sneak in any beer or dirty magazines for him. Although the nurses had been pretty hot...

Before he'd gone into the house to help with the search, Germany had also put the top for the car on, in order to offer some shade from the late afternoon sun. Austria reclined, chocolate-brown cowlick slightly wilted, against the plush black leather seats in the back of the car, his slender fingers gently moving along the edge of one seat to the tune of "Moonlight Sonata". Prussia stared him for several minutes, ruby eyes following the finger movements the way only the truly bored can do, before deciding to do something fun: namely, causing a hell of a lot of trouble. "Hey Specs, they're probably going to be in Romano's place for a while, wanna take this thing out for a spin in the meantime?"

The elegant nation raised a slender eyebrow in response, throwing an arm up over his face to block the offending view of Prussia grinning at him like a maniac. "_No, _I do _not _want to, as you so crudely put it, "take this thing out for a spin". This isn't even your car, it's a loan from the Roman Empire, and honestly, I'm not eager to discover what will happen to us if we drive this car anywhere and you inevitably find some way to crash or damage it. Even if he's not an empire any longer, that doesn't mean he doesn't have any fighting power left, and he'd probably be more than willing to use it in order to beat you into the ground for wrecking his property."

Prussia was, naturally, unfazed and unconcerned. "Aww, c'mon, it'll just be for a little while. Nobody's going to notice, they're all looking for ole Sourpuss like a pack of bloodhounds on the trail of a bigass stag. And I'm _really _goddamn bored."

Austria merely peered over the rims of his glasses to give him an annoyed look, before returning to tapping out musical tunes against the sides of the nearest seat upholstery. "If you feel like risking your brother's wrath for a suicidal joyride, I suggest you at least let me get out of the car first, as we both know who'll have your head on a platter otherwise." Prussia shivered ever so slightly, as visions of painful head injuries and broken bones, courtesy of one very protective Hungarian woman, danced through his head. "Fine, get your ass out of the car. But you're seriously missing out here."

Thankfully, as the heat was still quite intense outside, Germany had been considerate enough to also leave the car windows rolled down. Therefore, there was a small opening through which one could climb through. Austria stared rather doubtfully at the relatively small potential exit, wondering if trying to get out through the window was such a good idea. After all, if he got stuck, he'd have to deal with half of his body being trapped outside the car and forced to bear the heat while the rest of his body was left to the mercy of Prussia. _What to do, what to do..._

The decision was made for him when he saw, out of the corner of one eye, the rather alarming sight of the ex-nation trying to hotwire the car, a handful of tools pulled out of god knows where being used to try and pry open the dashboard panel in front of the steering wheel. "What are you _doing_, you fool!?", he hissed angrily, moving instinctively to try and stop his fellow passenger. Prussia merely gave him a rather annoyed look, as if to say 'Are-you-stupid?', before replying, "Trying to start up the car, _duh_. West took the keys with him when he went inside, so to get this thing started up, I need to give it a little...help." Austria huffed in frustration, reaching out to grab the screwdriver and Swiss army knife in Prussia's hands. "Are you mad? I already told you that it's not a good idea to deface the car!"

Immediately, the ex-nation moved away, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he hid the tools behind his back. "Uh-uh, I said I was going to get this thing started, and I meant it. So stay out of it, will you? It's not like I'm going to ruin it, I've messed with enough cars over the years to put it back together...I think."

For a moment, Austria only stared at him, unwilling to try and understand what went on in the ex-nation's head. After a few moments, he sighed in resignation, and turned his head away. "Just...just let me out of the car. If you're going to be defacing the vehicle, at least unlock the car doors so that I can leave, and therefore forfeit any and all responsibility for your insane actions."

Ruby eyes glinted for a moment, considering the pros and cons of such an action, before Prussia nodded in consent, using the screwdriver and Swiss army knife in tandem as a substitute crowbar to pry open the panel, revealing a thick rainbow tangle of wires, plugs, and circuits. Peering inside for a moment, he looked over the mass of wires in front of him, before selecting a deep green wire to the far right, tugging on it with one hand. There was a resounding _click _as the car doors unlocked, allowing Austria to open the door and get out of the car. Nodding curtly in reluctant thanks, the elegant nation shut the car door and headed into Romano's house, humming "Bluebird Waltz" under his breath.

Prussia stared after him from a moment, taking a few seconds to admire the other nation's backside (purely for entertainment purposes, of course), before returning to his work on the car. After a few minutes or so, the familiar _vroom _of the engine starting up greeted his ears, and a grin broke out across his face. Taking the wheel in both hands, Gilbird fluttering into place to perch on his shoulder, he looked out the window, feeling the urge to cackle maniacally as a thought occurred to him. _West is going to be so damn pissed. But it'll be so worth it. _


	18. Chapter 16: Car Crash, Alphabet Lessons

There was a resounding _crash _that shook the very foundations of the house as, for the second time that day, one of Romano's doors, as well as a good portion of the wall, was broken to bits. Although, in his defense, Spain wasn't the one to do it this time...

This particular brand of trouble had started only a half hour before, when Austria had left Prussia in the car, intent on ignoring the fact that the ex-nation was happily dismantling the dashboard and all therein so as to better hotwire the car. Whether or not Prussia actually would succeed had been somewhat worrisome, given the amount of hell he was known to raise, but the elegant nation had shut the thought away, knowing there was little to nothing that he could do to stop the inevitable disaster.

However, in retrospect, surveying the wreckage before him, it was probably more honorable to have at least _tried_.

The kitchen damage was, as collateral damage went, rather terrible: half of the wall had been smashed through, leaving the remaining bits of wall to crumble and fall over onto the now dusty floor. There were pipes and electrical wiring exposed in the part of the remaining wall that hadn't fallen yet, and the wires were sparking every so often. Dust choked the air and coated the nations in a fine layer of powdered white, leaving them coughing and swearing in turn. The car had gotten halfway through the "impromptu entryway" that had been created, and then had stopped entirely. It was also dented in the front, the two front lights smashed in, and coated in the dust that had fallen on everything, and everyone else. Prussia, dazed but unhurt, had been saved by the emergency driver's airbag deploying and cushioning the impact of the crash, and once the airbag deflated enough, had promptly kicked the driver-side door open (and off), and had hauled himself out of the smoking wreckage, given Gilbird a quick glance-over to ensure well-being, and grinned maniacally.

Prussia, meanwhile, was also now suffering from a different problem: namely, trying to escape the half-destroyed kitchen without being suitably reprimanded and punished by a _very _upset looking Germany, whose shock at the sudden invasion of the car smashing through the wall had melted away, replaced instead by a burning rage that could leave the Sun freezing by comparison. Feliciano, catching sight of his friend's upset expression, immediately grabbed hold of Germany in a valiant but ultimately futile effort to help distract him. France was torn between trying to help his friend escape, laughing at the fear on Prussia's face upon seeing Hungary advancing upon him with her frying pan, or simply restraining his shock at seeing the ruination of Romano's formerly tasteful kitchen. As another piece of the wall came tumbling down onto the formerly clean floor, Prussia began backing away from his brother, hands held up in the universal gesture of placation as he issued half-hearted, nervous explanations for why he'd just driven a car through the kitchen wall. From the look on Germany's face, the rather pathetic excuses weren't working very well.

Spain, however, after his initial shout of surprise upon witnessing a car smashing through the kitchen wall, took off into the fields outside the house, his eyes burning with fire as he let out a battle-cry. Hungary spun around in place, her camera whipped out of her apron pocket and held firmly at the ready as she tore off after him, frying pan swinging back and forth like a sort of demented pendulum.

In the nation community, it was normal to know several basic facts about each representation. For example, England and America didn't always get along but had a bizarre sort of friendship where attention on each other was a universal must, Belgium was friendly and had seemingly endless supplies of tasty chocolate, Russia loved vodka and sunflowers and scared people whenever he came near, Cuba had a liking for ice cream but reportedly couldn't get along with America, and Spain had a liking bordering on obsessive extremes for three things in this world: turtles, tomatoes, and Romano.

Really, it wasn't creepy, as one might expect. Spain had known the Southern Italian for centuries, ever since he'd gotten him as a spoil of war from Austria, and from the moment he'd been handed that tiny, foul-mouthed, scowling little nation child, and gotten his finger bitten for smiling too much, he'd known that it was meant to be. Although it was true that Romano wasn't the most efficient "maid", and didn't like his henchman uniform, and frowned and swore quite a lot, and had even peed on the floor once when he'd been new to Spain's house and hadn't yet memorized how to get to the bathroom, Spain still liked him. The enjoyment he got out of the simple things in life (namely, siestas, good food, and pretty girls), the little half-smiles he'd get when he tended Spain's tomato fields and thought no one was looking, even the tiny, almost inaudible, genuinely happy squeak that he'd make when first biting into a particularly tasty tomato...

_All the more reason to check up on him. Lovi's too special to end up with a jerk. I wonder what his kid looks like..._

The reason he was even out in these fields in the first place instead of searching the rest of the house was simple: it didn't smell right. Now, this may seem strange to some, but to Spain it made perfect sense. Romano had a very distinctive smell, one that Spain had grown used to over the years enough to track it easily, rather like how Germany always remembered that Feliciano smelled like garlic and freshly cooked pasta all the time. Romano, he remembered, smelled like fresh, sun-ripened tomatoes, roasted fish with a bit of lemon, the warm, salty sea breeze of Sicily, and a hint of some sort of musky, spicy cologne that he dimly remembered the Southern Italian finding back in the 1920s, along with a hint of gunpowder and hot metal from the guns he wielded in the days of the Italian mafia empire.

The house had numerous traces of Romano's scent throughout the rooms, but the smell was fading, hours old already. When Prussia had driven the car through the wall and cracked Romano's kitchen open like an egg, Spain had felt the sudden rush of blinding hot late afternoon sun, and the scent of the retreating Southern Italian had hit his senses like an oncoming truck. His legs started moving instantly, instinct driving him to throw himself fully into the hunt, now that the scent had been caught. He barely registered Hungary trailing behind him, apron fluttering wildly, one hand clapped to her headscarf to keep it from flying away. In her other hand was, naturally, her trusty camera, which had been hastily refitted with some fresh batteries thanks to some deft maneuvering while she tore after Spain.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Spain couldn't help but notice, at least in passing as he homed in on the smell, that Romano's property actually looked quite nice. The vegetable garden and fruit orchard, despite Romano's harvests and preserving efforts, still boasted some mouthwatering fruits and vegetables, lush in both color and flavor. Overhead, the sky was a warm, cornflower blue, the sun a huge, golden orb, slowly lowering itself down as time went on. There were no clouds to be seen, it was if the sky and the sea had exchanged places, leaving the water as the sky, a tranquil, endless stretch of blue with no ripples. The soil was rich, moist, and dark, ladybugs and dragonflies landing on deep green vines and leaves as a bird chirruped somewhere in the distant reach of the branches of an orange tree. As he ran faster, the scenery blurred around him, like an artist's palette smudged together in the rain; dimly, he registered the sound of the wind shrieking in his ears, the sun beating down on his skin, the sweat beading against his face and the back of his neck...

But that didn't matter. He'd found the source of the scent. He'd found Romano.

And from the sound of it, he wasn't alone. Spain came to such an abrupt stop as he heard the second voice that he almost tripped and fell; instead, he managed to recover quickly enough to come to a hasty, but effective stop, flailing his arms out in a panic for a few seconds as his body righted itself. eyes closing automatically to keep out dirt in case he did lose his balance completely and fall.

When he opened his eyes, he almost fell over again. From where he was standing, the kissing gate of Romano's tomato garden stood directly in front of him, only a few feet ahead. Spain looked in disbelieving awe at the glorious sight before him, at the beautiful garden enclosed in a white-washed picket fence, big as a stadium-size football field, with dozens of fruit-laden tomato plants peeking up above the tops of the fence boundary, with tomatoes of every shape and size and shade of red he could think of, all mouthwatering-looking, glistening slightly in the shining sun. He ran up to the fence, peering in.

_Such a beautiful place..._

Inside, he could faintly hear voices, both of Romano, and what was unmistakably the voice of a child, a small boy from the sound of it, perhaps that of a toddler's age. To his surprise, Romano's voice was soft, and rather gentle, without so much as a single curse word. The child's voice was high and sweet, like a cold glass of lemonade on a hot summer's day.

"Now, remember what we practiced. Say it with me, okay? A is for..."

The younger voice laughed. "_Arancia_, Mama! Yummy oranges!"

"Yes, now what's B stand for?"

"_Budino_, yummy pudding!"

Spain had to force himself from running over to see what was happening, it was just so strange. The urge to listen in on such a bizarre occurrence was far too tempting, after all. _Lovi's teaching the little one the alphabet? In Italian? How cute!_

Still blissfully unaware of the Spaniard hiding just beyond the fence, Romano continued with the lesson, Amato sitting on his lap, with the tomato snack handkerchief serving as a makeshift blanket. When he'd come out here, he'd been intent on hiding from the idiots who had invaded his house and wrecked his front door, but as time went on and no one found them, boredom had set in. Amato had asked if they could play a game, and while wracking his brains for suitable game ideas, had gotten the magnificent idea of teaching his little one the alphabet, while having him learn some Italian at the same time.

The game was quite simple, really: Romano would teach Amato a letter of the alphabet, going from A to Z at a slow and steady pace. With each new letter, Amato would learn a word from Romano, and if he could pronounce it correctly on the first try, he'd get a little cherry tomato (half-smashed, of course, Romano still wasn't sure if Amato could eat a whole, non-squashed tomato yet), and if he needed help, Romano would help with sounding it out for him, but then he'd only get half the tomato. With such a delicious prize at stake, Amato quickly learned to say each word like a professional, and then would happily devour his treat with gusto.

"And what does C stand for, hmm?"

"C for Cass...cass...cassa..."

There was a moment of silence as Amato got a look of childish concentration on his face, big green eyes narrowing as he sounded out, "Ca...cass...ca.."

Romano sighed slightly, heaving out a reminder of, "Remember, if you can't say it without help, you're only gonna get half a tomato..."

Behind the fence, Spain was praying to God. _Please, please, let the little guy get it right. Somebody that cute deserves a yummy tomato!_

"_Cassata_! C's for _cassata_, Mama! Yummy cake!"

There was a barely audible sigh of relief on the other side of the fence, before Romano responded. "Not just cake, cake with cream in it, Amato. That wasn't the whole answer."

A faint sniffling noise could be heard, as the Amato responded in childish horror, "N...no tomato, then? Please, Mama!"

Spain's silent prayers promptly began doubling in begging force.

Another sigh could be heard, before Romano spoke, half-amused, half-resigned to his fate. "Alright, one whole _tiny _tomato, then. Open wide..."

Spain grinned happily. _Haha, it worked! Thank you. _

Hidden in the shadows of a tree on the other side of the tomato garden, Hungary was also giving thanks, albeit for a different reason. _How cute, who knew Romano would make such a good parent, and one called "Mama", no less! Now if I could just get a photo of the kid..._


End file.
